Amazing Grace
by Lass Cherrie
Summary: AU. OT. / Clumsy, total noob heroine? Check. Self-centred jerk of a stepbrother? Check. Slugma with a superiority complex? Check. Unexpected quest with possibly awkward outcomes? Check! Normality? Well... working on it.
1. The Prologue!

**02 / 23 / 11**

Greetings!

I know I have another Pokemon story, _Pretty Kitty_, but I'm starting a new one anyways. I've decided to keep three chapters ahead when I'm posting, so I'll always have something to update, even when the river of inspiration runs dry. So here's hoping I write fast, if this story takes off.

Reviews are love, but I'm getting over the write-for-reviews thing, so if you enjoy this story, thumbs up. I'd love to hear from you! :)

I hope you guys find these characters and their stories as endearing as I do. :)

**Disclaimer: **I am glad I don't own Pokemon. Way too much effort. Serious props to Satoshi Tajiri, though.

* * *

**AMAZING GRACE**

**~ Prologue ~**

**On Celebrity Parenthood and Elementary Misfits**

* * *

Every story has a beginning.

Most stories have good beginnings; ones that start with things like 'Once upon a time…' or 'There was once a happy little girl, who…', and usually finish with cheesy clichés like 'And they all lived happily ever after.'

This story isn't one of those stories.

For starters, there is no 'Once upon a time', because for there to be such a beginning would mean the characters have probably had time to take a leisurely look over their completed story with fond nostalgia, acknowledging that it is now over, but an appropriate time to start re-telling it.

For me, the story hasn't ended yet. It's still going.

But you've gotta start somewhere, right? So I'm telling mine from where I suspect it began. It's a pretty ambiguous start; cleverly disguised by the heinously evil yet indisputably genius plot of a largely underestimated adversary.

But let me fill in a few blanks first.

I grew up in the swanky-hotel-room, backstage life of a child born into fame. The fame wasn't mine, by the way. It was my father's; TV personality Vance Lincoln Buckthorn, once-coveted reporter turned Goldenrod Morning Herald anchorman, with a hundred-watt beam that blinded with its dazzling whiteness, and a bass voice as smooth as melted dark chocolate.

Charisma personified, quote unquote.

He was good, old, adorable 'daddy' to me until about the age of nine, when I realised that unless I learned how to steam vegetables and boil pasta, I was going to live off TV dinners and microwave popcorn for the rest of my life, and would hit morbid obesity by the age of twelve. It wasn't that my father couldn't cook (though I honestly think he can't), but that he was simply never home at night to do it.

And my mother, you might be wondering? She was out of the picture before my second birthday. I knew very little about her as I was growing up, just that she was a woman whose dreams couldn't wait, and whose drive for achieving was greater than her maternal instincts. When I was old enough to understand what all this meant, I decided the part of her that was meant to be all motherly and parental must have malfunctioned during childbirth.

The point is, I never heard a peep from my mom as a kid, and by my tenth birthday I was a spaghetti Bolognese prodigy.

Around the same time, I began to develop a solid interest in Pokémon. Kids in my class started bringing the little monsters to school in red and white Pokéballs and showing them off at recess. I couldn't relate to them, as my home environment was one that came with a strictly-no-Pokémon policy. My dad was not a 'Pokémon person', and never would be. He didn't own one himself, which didn't take me long to conclude was a good thing, since he didn't even have the time to properly raise a child. I'd hate to think what would have happened to the poor thing; I doubt Dad would have adhered to the basic laws of Pokémon rights.

But I didn't think like that at ten years of age. All I knew was that I wanted something cute and cuddly to play with at school, like everyone else. Instead of the ever-popular Snubbull I'd been so hoping for, my father gave me a purple gel watch and a framed photograph of himself shaking hands with the at-the-time Johto League Champion, who I'd never even heard of.

I was intensely disappointed.

By my eleventh birthday, the League Champion had been replaced twice, and my taste in Pokémon had changed from pink, huggable and domesticated to the now insanely cool Water-type with the fad sweeping Goldenrod Elementary.

I had my heart set on getting myself a Marill, which, back then, was the most ultimately awesomely fantastic-est, super-cool Pokémon _ever. _I loved its gigantor mouse ears and its pretty bobble-tail. I wanted one so badly it would keep me up at night. Just thinking about it would make me all excited and giggly.

My dad forgot my birthday that year. Delivered a day late via express post from Mahogany Town, where he was reporting on a strange mass-outbreak of wild Azumarill (oh, the cruelty of irony), was a new journal and a gift voucher for two thousand Poké to the Goldenrod Department Store. I lamented that with that money I could purchase a heck of a lot of Items that would be useful to me if I was a Trainer, and put it aside until I'd saved enough allowance to afford a Marill Pokédoll.

Of course, by the time I finally got one, the most ultimately awesomely fantastic-est, super-cool Pokémon (_ever_) was Cyndaquil, and Fire was the new Water.

I tried. I really did.

I gave it one more shot when I turned twelve. Pokémon-type fads had become dorky, and it was the thing to be into Pokémon battles on TV. 'Cool' Pokémon weren't cute anymore. They were 'strong' or 'tough' or – the ultimate win for the boys – the kinds of Pokémon that made the girls in my class squeal in disgust. A lot of Caterpie and Spinarak appeared that year. I was one of the unlucky few of the girlish kind whose stomach churned violently whenever a Bug-type Pokémon was let out in the playground. They made my skin crawl. A couple of the particularly nastier boys discovered infinite amusement in making me cry at every opportunity.

I came to hate going to school.

By my thirteenth birthday, I was pretty over the whole thing. After three years of yearning, my enthusiasm was waning, and having never really had much to do with Pokémon, I was starting to thinking I wasn't really missing out on anything. It was a period of major denial, but it did make me feel a bit better about not fitting in at school. Thankfully, I'd graduated from Goldenrod Elementary, and would be starting afresh at the Goldenrod Preparatory, a fancy-schmancy all-girls middle school only for those rare few with a high enough IQ to meet the Preparatory's ridiculously prestigious standards.

Or, in my case, and like so many of my classmates', a pretty penny in their daddy's pocket.

It was just my luck that things got off to a bad start. For some reason, I just didn't click with the other girls. I found myself in the sad little cafeteria corner indistinctly labelled - but widely assumed by the popular majority - 'LOSER'. If anyone decided to seek me out (oh ho ho), they'd have most likely found me in the aisles of the library, doing my homework for lack of anything better to occupy my time.

By all means, I was no intellectual prodigy. Nor was I particularly athletically inclined (far from it). I guess I kind of just failed in all aspects of middle school.

Don't ask me how. It just happened.

The other girls all formed little cliques, and somehow I didn't slot in anywhere. It was like being the only kid left when choosing teams. Every single day. I managed to end up being the outcast – again – and there was no-one I could grovel at the feet of to change that fact.

Believe me, I tried.

But the beginning of my woeful thirteenth year was nothing in comparison to what the rest of it would bring. My birthday present that year was a doozy.

I would have taken a dozen tacky watches, twenty framed photos of my father's cheesy camera-smile, and a hundred utterly useless journals I would never write in, over Camilla Antonia Hemlock.

Hands down. Any day.

At first, I was actually pretty excited at the prospect of having someone new in the family. Oh, how innocent and naïve I was. I never questioned exactly why my father felt the need to re-marry, or why he did it on a whim, without my presence at the ceremony. By now his notorious womanising nature was no secret to me, nor was his equally notorious tendency to be horrendously impulsive. The evidence was far and plenty, from the red sports-car down in valet he'd arrived home with one day, to the wall-sized aquarium (eternally empty) in our lounge room. I maintain the conclusion that it must have simply been a career-advancing move.

Otherwise, the whole thing _really_ doesn't make any sense. At all.

I was nervous about meeting Camilla, of course, but keen to have a real mother figure for the first time in my entire life. Someone who I might be able to relate to. Someone who could teach me things only a mother can; things like… how to speak to a boy, or how to convince your father that spending ten thousand Poké on a pair of pumps is a spectacular idea.

Those sorts of things.

As it turns out, there were a lot of things only Camilla Antonia Hemlock could teach me. For the lessons I learned, I am forever indebted to her. No kidding.

"Gracie," my dad said in his booming chocolate-voice. I will never forget that moment. Ever. It would be imprinted – branded – in fluorescent ink in the very front of my memory for the rest of my life. "I'd like you to meet your new step-mother." He turned then, having just come in through the front door of our penthouse apartment. "Camilla, sweetheart, this is my daughter, Grace Lorraine."

The woman who came through that door then was so far from what I imagined that the shy, excited smile dropped from my face so fast I almost heard it land somewhere close to my feet.

Camilla Antonia Hemlock is a perfect example of someone who is 'larger than life'. Literally. She made a little grunting noise of frustration as she squeezed through the door, her liberal body a little _too _generous for her garish buttercup-yellow pencil skirt-and-blazer ensemble. Her banana-blonde hair bobbed at her broad shoulders in fat curls, decorated with a stupid little fascinator-thing, perched on top of her head. She surveyed me with enormous jewel-blue eyes caked with makeup, and I stood, immobilised as if by a Glare attack, under her fiercely judgemental gaze.

And when her fat, pouty, glossy red lips twitched down disdainfully, I knew I was toast.

"Hello," she said, speaking very distinctly _at me_, not to me. She said nothing else to me. "Darling, won't you come in and see our lovely new home?"

It was then that I suddenly realised, with a violent kick in my stomach and a sharp prickle of shock down my spine, that Camilla Antonia Hemlock was a package deal that came with an added bonus. I remember so clearly the momentary impulse – strong, urgent – to flee wildly, but I swallowed it down, ignoring the alarm bells screaming manically in my brain.

In through the door stepped Zeke Hemlock, tall, lanky, and as shockingly dark as his mother was blonde. He raised brilliant blue eyes – the same striking shade of azure as Camilla's – beneath a shaggy jet-black fringe and gave me one analytical glance. I struggled not to cringe from the blow of two utterly terrible rejections in the space of about fifteen seconds when he looked away dismissively and said, flatly, "Where's my room?"

It was right about here that my story began.


	2. Arc 1: Hit the Road, Jack

**A/N: **Hi, reader. :)

As you can see, the story has now grown so big that it's become necessary to split it up into separate arcs. This is very exciting!

I'll be going back over pre-existing chapters and tidying/editing a bit as we go, too, so don't be surprised if little changes pop up here and there! :3

Here we go. Arc one: start!

Happy reading, and please leave some feedback. :)

* * *

**ARC ONE **

**{Hit the Road, Jack.}**

* * *

**~ One ~**

**On Classic Step-familial Relations and Well-constructed Plotting**

* * *

I'm a light sleeper, which is something I very obviously didn't inherit from my dear father, who snores like nobody's business. He's worse than a Snorlax. No kidding. Even Camilla hates it; it only took three weeks of trying to sleep in the same bed as him for her to crack it and move into her own room.

Mind you, Camilla is extremely high-maintenance. I wouldn't exactly say she has a high tolerance threshold. And her patience is pretty much nonexistent. I'd say the word was erased from the Camilla dictionary a good few decades ago, along with words like 'compassion', 'selfless' and 'kind-hearted'.

Well, kind-hearted is technically _two_ words, but y'know.

I'm awake the very moment the Dodrio tilts its three heads back and wails into the morning. Annoyingly awake. I kick off the covers and swing my legs out of bed, expecting thick, soft carpet under my feet.

Instead, my toes touch something cool, leathery and slightly slimy. It hisses. A shudder runs down my spine, and I squeal in surprise, my heartbeat kicking up a notch in fright.

"Dile!"

_Chomp. _Pains lances through my right foot as Zeke's pesky Totodile, Rex, greets me in his usual manner. Effectively, this just means he's been rudely awoken by my poor unsuspecting foot, and has returned the favour by sinking his sharp little teeth into the offender.

"Rex!" I kick my leg, trying to dislodge him, but he's stuck firm. Tears spring to my eyes. Good god, he's got a solid jaw on him. "Get _off_ me!"

Rex snickers. He does it on purpose, I swear. The little pest knows I hate it when I step on him in the morning, so he waits until I go to sleep and deliberately sneaks into my room to curl up next to the bed, right where he knows I'm going to put my feet.

"Zeeeeeeeeeeeeeke!"

Rex lets go instantly, still chortling as he scurries away. Stupid little coward. I run my hands over my face, listening to his little feet slapping down the hallway, and massage my throbbing ankle.

"What's your problem, Spacey?"

Zeke yawns hugely, leaning against the door frame, his black hair mussed from sleeping. He attempts a groggy blue glare in my direction, but the effect is significantly lessened by the generally puffy-eyed, bleary, sleep-encrusted state of his face.

"Your filthy slime-o-saur was in my room again," I complain.

Zeke lifts his arms, looking around pointedly. "I don't see him."

"He was in here, and you know it. Keep him out of here," I snap. "I hate him."

"Lay off," Zeke says sharply. "Stop picking on him."

"If he'd leave me alone, I wouldn't have a problem with him."

We glare at each other for a long moment. I break the silence with, "You have sleep on your face."

"Your hair is sticking up funny."

So begins a regular morning in the Hemlock-Buckthorn household.

I successfully complete attempt number two at getting out of bed and slouch into the en-suite. My reflection is pale-skinned, skinny-framed and tired-looking. I wash my face with a warm towel until the bags have disappeared from beneath the misty green eyes peering back at me. Then I clean my teeth and brush the kinks from my shoulder-length strawberry-blonde hair, lamenting the way it kicks out at the bottom. There's nothing I can do about it, just like there's nothing my dad can do about the cowlicks in his equally-blonde locks. Believe me, we've both tried vainly.

Back in my bedroom, I drag the closet open in search of my brand-new uniform for the Goldenrod Academy of Excellence, the fancy-schmancy high school to Goldenrod Preparatory, my fancy-schmancy ex-middle school, which I will be glad to never visit ever again. Graduation was the best day of my life.

It's funny how much I loathed middle school, when everybody says it is high school that's the worst.

My new uniform isn't really all that different to the old one. It's the same navy blazer, same white blouse, same powder-blue woollen vest, but the pleated skirt is navy now, instead of grey. I yank on some white socks and hop down the hall, simultaneously trying to pull on my shoes.

"Wow, sis," Zeke says, not looking up from the breakfast bar as I make my grand entrance in our spacious stainless-steel kitchen. He knows I loathe it when he calls me that. "That uniform does wonders for your eyes."

I have no witty retort for his sarcasm, so I settle for, "Shut up, Zeke-o-zoid."

"Original," he snorts as I reach for the Flareon Flakes, which he immediately grabs and holds high above my head. Only now does he lift his eyes from the newspaper and settle them on me, a challenge sparking in them.

"Not in the mood, Zeke," I snap shortly. "Just give me the box."

"What's the magic word?" he asks patronisingly. I glare at him, knowing he's dying for me to leap at the cereal, but fighting the mad urge to do so. I _will not _indulge his childishness.

"Give me the box."

"After you say the magic word."

"Zeke!"

"Say it."

I seethe for a long, furious moment. His lips curl up in a smirk. I jump for the box and miss, naturally. Zeke bursts out laughing. "You're a classic."

"Give me the goddamn cereal!" I all but shriek. I'm seriously about to lose my patience, and he seriously knows it.

"You know the rules."

I bite my tongue to swallow the profanities I'm longing to fire at him, take a deep breath and say, feeling utterly foolish as my pride takes a serious beating, "Please."

"Actually, the magic word was 'Pidgey-poop'. Bad luck."

"What?" I snap angrily. "That's stupid. Everyone knows the 'magic word' is please."

Zeke shakes his head. "Not mine."

"You're such a childish jerk," I grumble, swiping again at the cereal, which he gleefully holds even higher. Jesus, if he doesn't give it to me in a second, I'll cry with frustration. So humiliating. "Zeke!"

"You didn't give me the right word."

I drop my hand, defeated. Screw him and his stupid games. "I don't have time for this. I'll get a bagel or something instead."

Shouldering my school bag, I throw him a filthy look and stomp from the room, ignoring Rex as he laughs at me from the safety of the aquarium.

X3

Goldenrod Academy is a fifteen minute walk from our apartment complex. The roads are constantly busy with traffic, the sidewalks bustling with businessmen and women, and students with Pokémon. I narrowly dodge getting swiped by a pair of feuding Mankey, their Trainers shouting anxiously over the din of shrieking ape-Pokémon, trying unsuccessfully to prise them apart.

Seriously. Sometimes I think it's a God-send not having to be permanently responsible for one of those creatures. More often than not they seem like trouble-making bundles of hard work. The perfect recipe for stress.

I don't really think that, actually. If I were to be completely honest, I'd tell you I've been dying for a Pokémon for years. It's just easier pretending it's a relief being a loner; the only kid in a grade of thirty without one of her own.

My cell phone rings. I take it out of my pocket and stare at it in amazement. The last time this thing went off was when my dad phoned to tell me he'd be out of town an extra night last month. It's him again this time, which is only a tiny disappointment. It'd be nice to have a friend call me every once in a while, but for that, well, you kind of need friends.

Therein lies my problem.

"Dad… Why are you calling me?"

"Can't a father call his only daughter on her fifteenth birthday?"

I stop walking abruptly, which earns me an annoyed look from a disgruntled old lady who walks straight into me. "You remembered?"

His important-person voice is vaguely amused. "Don't sound so surprised, Gracie."

Except I _am_ surprised, because he hasn't remembered my birthday for two years; it's usually just another day on his busy calendar. The last legitimate present he gave me was a digital camera that never left its box. The new stepmother on my thirteenth birthday totally doesn't count, and she was the last thing he gave me.

"Honey, you there?"

I realise my stunned silence is also incredibly rude and quickly stammer, "Thanks, Dad."

"What do you say to taking the morning off and coming out to breakfast?"

I almost choke on my breath. Is he kidding? Who is this man, and why is he attempting a bad impersonation of my father? "It's the first week of school. And don't you have a meeting, or something?"

"This morning is free. And you won't miss anything at school," he says. "They can't have gotten stuck into the semester that quickly. Come on, Gracie. It's your birthday."

I can't help it; my heart swells with excited pleasure. I bite my bottom lip, trying to suppress my happiness. It's ridiculous, really, getting so worked up over such a simple gesture. I suppose that's what happens when your dad actually acknowledges you every once in a while.  
"That'd be great. Where should I meet you?"

"How about the tea rooms on twenty-third?" he suggests, and I grin. It's one of my favourite spots. "We'll say, nine thirty?"

"Yeah!" I manage to gasp. "Sounds good. I'll, um, see you then." I go to hang up, then add quickly, "Dad? Uh… thank you."

He's already hung up, but that's okay. My dad remembered my birthday.

X3

The tea rooms on twenty-third are a special little place your average person doesn't know about. It's a little gem, tucked above the busy street, painted snow-white and furnished with exquisite Romantic-era tables and chairs. It's like walking out of the twenty-first century and into the nineteenth.

I arrive right on nine-thirty, removing my blazer and hanging it from one of the old-fashioned coat stands by the door. The woman behind the counter graces me with a welcoming smile. They can always smell wealth on people. I don't know how they do it, but it's pretty impressive.

"Do you have a table, miss?"

"Yeah, I think so," I reply. "Under Buckthorn? Or Hemlock-Buckthorn?"

"Oh, yes." She finds the name on their exclusive little list and smiles at me again. "Right this way."

I follow her up a lavishly-carpeted spiral staircase to the second floor, where the tables and chairs are arranged on the balcony to overlook the first floor. Dimly lit old-fashioned chandelier wall-lamps glow faintly, throwing a soft mood over the upper floor.

I spot my father's head of golden hair at the corner table, and am unpleasantly surprised to discover Camilla and Zeke in his company. Camilla's overweight Vulpix, Mr. Mittens, has its own chair. Zeke glances over and spots me, and smirks.

Jerk. Who said he was invited?

"Here she is," dad says, catching sight of me. His booming voice echoes downstairs, and people glance around from their scones and fruit tea. "Grace, honey. Happy birthday."

He doesn't get up to hug me, which is fine. We've never done the hugging thing. It would be awkward if he tried to start that now.

"Hi," I say, forcing a big smile onto my face. Camilla returns it with a simpering grimace of her own; she never really tries to disguise her disapproval of me. Today she's wearing an outfit in peacock blue-green. Her talon-like nails match, as does her ridiculous little hat.

"Darling," she purrs. The floor creaks as she rearranges her plentiful body in the chair she somehow managed to squish herself into. "Why don't you sit down?"

I do so, reluctantly dropping into the vacant seat between Zeke and Mr. Mittens, who sort of half-growls at me from the back of his throat. I ignore him.

"This is… nice," I say, struggling for an adequately descriptive word. Zeke snorts furtively into his hand.

"We've ordered you some fruit toast," dad says, his deep brown eyes fixed on the view of the sidewalk through the window, several stories below.

"Oh. Thanks."

Not what I was going to order, but that's okay. Camilla stirs her floral china cup of sickly-sweet tea loudly. The tendrils curling from the surface are so overpowering it's almost putrid. For several moments the clinking of her teaspoon against the porcelain is the only sound to break the horribly awkward silence.

Then my fruit toast arrives, and my empty stomach grumbles appreciatively. I butter it with gusto, loving the scent wafting to my nostrils. I've just taken a bite out of the first piece, and am chewing away happily when my dad breaks the silence with, "Sweetheart, I've got a present for you."

I inhale sharply, and a chunk of toast lodges itself in my throat. Zeke fights laughter as I gulp down several mouthfuls of scalding hot tea, which burns the roof of my mouth and makes my eyes water. Camilla looks like she's about to faint.

I gasp as my airways are cleared, splutter for a moment, and say, "Really? You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," he says, surprising me. And not just because he acts like my choking-on-my-breakfast-fit never happened. It's also one of the last things I ever expected him to say. Ever.

I put down the piece of toast as he reaches underneath the table and retrieves a wooden box. He slides it towards me.

"This is really nice of you," I say, humbled by his generosity, and feeling terribly ashamed of all the resentful thoughts I may or may not have ever thought about him. With excitement swelling through my chest, I flick the latch and lift the lid.

"Oh, my god."

Even Zeke is interested for once, which means he wasn't in on this. His eyes rake the innocent little box curiously. I turn it away in a moment of spite, so he can't see inside, and irritation flashes in his eyes. He slouches in his seat and looks out the window, feigning boredom.  
The shock is like ice hitting my stomach, coursing through my veins and chilling my blood.

"You're… you're _kidding_?"

Dad gives me a small, clipped sort of smile. He never was one for portraying huge bouts of real emotion. He rocks at cheeriness on screen, though. I've always found it odd.

I reach into the box with trembling fingers and lift out a red and white Pokéball, letting it roll into my palm. A Pokémon. My father, anti-Pokémon-ist if ever there was one, has given me an honest-to-goodness, living, breathing, pooping _Pokémon. _I'm still revelling in this, my amazement so thick and all-consuming that it takes me a few seconds longer than it probably should to realise the Pokéball is scorching hot.

"Gaaah!"

The Pokéball drops from my hand as I knee-jerk flick my fingers away from the source of the sudden, hot pain, hitting the carpet and making a sharp popping noise as it explodes open. From inside comes an odd, singed sort of smell, a little bit like burned toast, and a shape materialises out of the white light that floods the room.

There is a thick silence as everyone around the table stares at the creature on the floor. I can't say I'm entirely proud of my immediate reaction to it.

"What… what is it?"

It's like a pile of goo. A red blob that kind of – when you squint hard – resembles a slug. A slug with luminous yellow eyes, so big in its slime-face that it looks seriously retarded, and skin that bubbles slowly like hot, thick caramel on a stove.

It blinks slowly at me.

"Dad?" I repeat, wrinkling my nose. "What is it?"

"It's a Slugma, you insensitive ditz," Zeke hisses. "What the hell does it look like?"

"It looks like a slug… that someone's set on fire."

"This," dad says, sounding weirdly proud, "is El Scorchio."

You've got to be kidding me. "It has a name?"

El Scorchio slithers slowly away towards the wall at a very non-alarming pace, leaving a trail of roasted carpet in his wake. The whole place starts to smell like singed fur. Some of the other customers glance around, shooting us dirty looks.

"Where did you get him?" I ask suspiciously. "And why?"

"I have my contacts," dad replies ambiguously. He shares a _look _with Camilla, and I realise the best has yet to come. There's more to El Scorchio than my father simply deciding to fulfil a childish dream of mine, and I have a horrible feeling I'm about to find out what it is.

"Kids," dad says, clearing his throat and drawing himself up in his seat. "We've decided it's time for you to get some life experience."

I stare at him stupidly. What?

Zeke, having realised that 'you' includes him, is equally as silent.

"You're old enough now," dad continues, "that you should be leaving the nest a bit more. Facing life's curve balls. Learning about yourself."

"Where are you going with this?" I ask, but I have a nasty feeling I already know.

"Grace, honey," dad says, reaching across the round table to place his big hand over mine. "After lots of careful thinking and discussion–"

Oh no.

"I think that it might be time–"

I don't want him to finish this sentence. I don't want to know whatever it is he's about to tell me.

"That you meet your mother."

Bam. There it is. The bombshell of a lifetime, dropped right on my head, like a bucket of ice-cold water.

"Dad," I choke out, but he interrupts me by holding up one hand.

"Grace, you're a young woman, and young women need their mothers to help them through this difficult stage of change in their life."

"But you said Camilla would be my mother-figure," I point out, unabashed. "Remember? You told me so when you married her. You said she'd teach me."

Camilla shifts uncomfortably in her seat, and I realise that, whatever's going on, she's had a hand in it. In fact, I suspect she's the mastermind behind it.

"So, wait, are you sending me… to mom?" I say, too stunned to believe it.

Dad looks at me. "I think it would be good for you."

"What about school? I'm not even a sophomore yet."

"You can repeat when you return," he says. "Your education can always wait. Your youth will not. That's why it's important that you go now, while you're still young and impressionable, and still have a lot to learn."

Where is he spitting all this from? It actually sounds like he's sat down and done some serious parental thinking. But that would be the first time he's done it. Ever.

"You always told me mom didn't want me," I say, unashamed of how pathetic I must look in front of Camilla and Zeke. "Why would you send me to her… at all? Period?"

"She wants to meet you, too. She said so herself."

"You _spoke _with her?" God, this is getting to be too much. Dad talking to mom is like… like… a Charmander and Squirtle mating. Successfully.

Eww.

"She's happy to have you whenever you arrive," dad continues.

"There isn't a specific date?" I say, latching onto this tidbit of strange information. "When am I going, exactly? Won't it only take a few hours on your private jet to get to Kanto?"

It's a stupid question, and I realise that as soon as it's out.

"You'll go whenever you're packed and ready," dad replies with finality. I feel the anger start to build up in my chest. Now that he's got the hardest part out of the way – the telling-me-about-the horrendous-decision-he's-made part – he clearly expects it all to be downhill from here.  
Not on my purple gel watch.

"So I just go home, pack all my stuff, and call mom when I book my flight?" I say, my voice rising angrily. "How long are you sending me there for, anyway?"

"As long as you like," dad replies. "But Camilla and I–" There it is! Hah! She _is _the evil mastermind, after all, pulling ruthlessly at dad's puppet strings! I narrow my eyes across the table at her, but she's still stirring her stupid tea rhythmically, looking down into the swirling liquid. Dad's still talking. "–should journey there yourselves."

"Excuse me?"

Did I just miss something vital?

"Really, Grace, your absentmindedness is becoming quite appalling," dad scolds me. "I said, we think it would be better for you to journey to Kanto yourselves."

I'm stuck on the not-using-the-jet-plane part, and subsequently miss the obviously more vital piece of information in the sentence. It doesn't go unnoticed, though.

"Wait, _what_?" Zeke says sharply beside me. "What do you mean 'yourselves'?"

"You're going to accompany her, darling," Camilla says, finally opening her big fat mouth and actually contributing to this unbelievable conversation.

"You can't be serious," Zeke says, eyes huge. "Why?"

"Grace obviously can't go alone," Camilla says with a disdainful look in my direction. "She's far too frail and timid. She needs an escort, in case she runs into trouble."

Ponyta poop! Frail and timid my butt! She's just making stuff up now. That makes me mad.

"I'm not going," Zeke says stubbornly. "She's not my responsibility."

"You _are _going," Camilla replies, calm as a peaceful lake. "Because I'm your mother, and I say so."

"Dad," I say desperately, "please tell me this is a joke. I don't _want _to meet mom."

He says nothing.

I stare in shock at my father, who gazes uncomfortably at his now-cold croissant and glances every few seconds at Camilla, who strokes the curly fringe of Mr. Mittens, who I _swear _is somehow finding personal satisfaction in our miserable fate and smirks at Zeke (who he's obviously never liked), who glares furiously at his mother. The tension is static with livid electricity, nearly palpable in the air between us.

"Excuse me, miss?" an anxious waitress interrupts presently. "Please recall your Slugma. It's burning holes in the curtains."


	3. The Second Chapter!

**~ Two ~**

**On Inadequate Preparation and Unlikely Companionship**

* * *

I don't go back to school after breakfast. Why would I, since it's now been rendered redundant?

Instead, I get on the city subway and head for Goldenrod Department Store, a place that, in the past, has offered refuge and distraction during times of great need.  
I have one of my dad's credit cards, and I'm seriously tempted to max it out, just to spite him, but I can't bring myself to be so horrid, even after his most recent display of bad parenting.

And to think, I'd been excited about breakfast. I'd actually thought he simply wanted to share a leisurely meal with me on my birthday.

No doubt Camilla only reminded him of the date so she could coerce me into coming along. Way to dog a young girl and crush her spirit! Her meanness knows no bounds.

Cool, fresh air invites me in as the department store doors slide open mechanically. I make for the elevator, exchanging a smile of greeting with the receptionist. The ascent is smooth and quick; I bop my head absent-mindedly to the cheery elevator music playing quietly in the background. It's funny how soothing and calming it can be, when it's the most unexciting genre of music out there.

I skip floors one to five, emerging on my favourite of the lot, the 6F rooftop. It's pretty dead up here, which is exactly how I like it. No-one to disturb the peace. Coin-slot binoculars along the right wall offer a spectacular view of Goldenrod City; I grab a can of Sodapop from the vending machines jammed into the corner, dump my bag unceremoniously on the tiled floor, and scrounge in my blazer pocket for some loose change.

Once, when I was little, my dad brought me up here. He must have had a day off, otherwise I don't know why he would have done it. He bought two cans of Sodapop – one each – and hoisted me up onto his hip so we could look out through the binoculars. We made a game out of spotting random people and making up stories about their lives. I had the best day.

It's the fondest memory I have of my father. I will never forget it.

I swig my Sodapop and lower my eyes to the binoculars. There's a lady in red exiting the apartment complex next door. Suspicious. The building's pretty uneventful, except for the couple arguing in the window of a room on the ninth floor. Well, you shouldn't have cheated on her with Red Coat, pal. I wouldn't be happy either. You tell him, girl.

Red Coat's making her way up the sidewalk now. She stops at a shopfront to make a purchase, and afterward she walks much slower. Was that meant to be some kind of secret signal? Who's she waiting for? I watch her consume what seems to be a pastry of some kind at an agonising snail pace. Is that yummy? Are you even actually hungry?

Suddenly, she visibly perks, alerted by something across the street, and I swivel the binoculars to see. Hmm… it's difficult to tell exactly what she's looking at in the steady flow of people meandering up the sidewalk. I return to Red Coat, but she's disappeared. What the…?

Oh, wait. There she is. She's just walking again.

She checks for traffic and ducks across the road, weaving into the crowd on the other side. I wonder with niggling curiosity who she's tailing. It's painfully obvious she's trying to be secretive. If I was trying to blend in, I probably wouldn't wear a bright red coat, lady. Just for future reference.

Red Coat suddenly leaps into a back alley, peering out and up the street. I finally spot who she's following; it's a tall boy with dark hair, and he's entering a building. Strange, girly. Very strange behaviour – I _totally _see why you're stalking him. But what does it have to do with the couple on the ninth floor?

Home-wrecker.

Red Coat's disappeared for good this time, and the binoculars lock in place as the time runs out. I dig for another coin, but realise I've had enough of dad's game already.

I sigh, letting my fingers slip from the handles, and slide my back down the wall to sit on the tiles beside my bag. There's a dusty Spinarak web in one corner of the roof, and the trash can by the vending machines is seriously full. Looks like someone needs to hire a cleaner. Tsk, tsk.

My bag offers little entertainment. I didn't pack a novel because I thought I was going to school, and I've got nothing to nibble on because I was going to buy my lunch at the cafeteria. My unhopeful fingers brush against textbooks, notebooks, my pencil tin, a wooden box…

The wooden box!

I close my fingers around it and pull it out, reaching gingerly for the Pokéball inside. It's still boiling hot, and I fling it quickly so my fingers don't get burned again. There's a pretty ugly blister already half-formed on my palm.

I'm greeted again with that odd burning smell, and the fire blob materialises. He sits there, giving me his unnerving yellow stare, and bubbling away slowly.

"Hey… El Scorchio."

The name, man. The name is a joke. It has to be.

He crawls off with what I imagine is curiosity. It's difficult to tell since he's a pretty expressionless little guy. I watch his goopy skin swelling and bursting every few seconds, and am reminded of the lava flow from a volcano. Does he think as slowly as he moves?

"So… uh," I begin, not sure exactly how to communicate with a Pokémon. El Scorchio continues his slow beeline for wherever he thinks he's going. "So we're pals now, hey?"

"Maaa."

Oh. Okay. What the heck does that mean? I'm assuming he understands me, and that was some kind of response.

"Are you hungry?"

Stupid question, Grace. As if you'd know what to feed a fire slug.

"Ma."

I feel like giving up. This is stupid. I feel like an idiot; it's even _worse_ than talking to myself.

But I give it another shot, since no-one's around. Why not?

"So, we're going on an adventure. Are you excited?"

"Slug." He turns and gives me what is very clearly a derisive look.

Wonderful. My own Pokémon doesn't approve of me. Add another one to the ever-growing list.

"Okay… well, we can make it fun."

He ignores me.

I sigh.

My cell phone rings. Wow, twice in one day. I'm on a roll.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?"

"Oh, hi, Zeke. I'm good thanks, how are you?"

"Cut the crap," he snaps. "Where are you?"

"Nowhere important," I reply. "Why?"

"The school just called home, looking for you."

"So? I don't go there anymore, remember?"

"Yes, you do. You shouldn't cut class."

"Says the jerk calling from the penthouse. Hypocrite."

"You're not seriously going to just roll over in submission, are you?" He deftly changes the subject.

I sit there for a moment, thinking about it, and realise that, yes, that is exactly what I'm going to do. "I was considering it."

"You're kidding."

"I know this whole thing majorly sucks," I say. "But I don't want to stick around somewhere I know I'm not wanted."

"So you're _actually_ going to go?"

I take a deep, steadying breath. "Yeah. I am."

"You're crazy. And you're not ruining my life by being more spineless than a Ditto. Shove off."

"Whatever, Zeke. Good luck trying to convince your delightful mother otherwise."

"Watch me."

He hangs up. I drop my cell in my bag and clamber to my feet with a sigh. Since I've committed to actually doing this stupid thing, I may as well go home and start preparing. There's no point prolonging my departure. It'll just make everything more uncomfortable.

"Come on, El Scorchio. Time to move."

X3

The penthouse is empty when I get home.

I drop my keys in the bowl by the door and strip off my blazer, tossing it in the general direction of the walk-in closet.

There's a neat pile of stuff lying in waiting in the lounge room, stacked in the middle of the floor. I stare at it suspiciously. Movement in the corner of my vision spikes my attention, and I glance over to find Rex paddling around in the aquarium. He pulls a face at me.

"You stay there," I warn. "Or I'll step on your slimy little tail."

He hisses – bubbles trail to the surface of the tank – and executes an underwater backwards somersault, before kicking away behind one of the fake coral reefs.  
I turn my attention back to the Ominous Pile of Things. I think I can see a tent, what looks like a portable camp stove in a box, and a tarpaulin, amongst other things I've generally had absolutely no use for at any stage of my life. I assume they're for my impromptu vacation.

Camilla really doesn't mess around.

I scowl at the Pile and stomp off to my room. Already it kind of feels more like my _ex_-room, even though I'll be coming back home to it soon. Sad face.

I throw open the closet and promptly conclude that there's no way I'll be able to take my entire collection of clothing along with me. That's a bummer.

Well, no-one ever got anywhere by standing around and looking at the project at hand.

I strip off my uniform, trading it for a pair of sweatpants and a baggy tee, and get to work selecting the few items of clothing I own that might be appropriate for a god-knows-how-long trek through the wild.

When I'm done, there are about ten balls of material I've deemed 'suitable' on my duvet. Most of them are t-shirts. Hmm. This clearly won't do. I could make use of what I've got, and attempt bushwalking in a sequinned, sparkly cocktail dress, or I could go out and buy brand-new japaras and hiking boots and waterproof pants.

So chic.

I vote for the second option, dig in my bag for my wallet, pocket my cell, and grab my keys. Then I head out again.

It's funny how limited your world is. You find the places you like, frequent the places you need, and vόila. You have a repetitive little cycle that becomes your whole life. Walking through Goldenrod City looking for shops selling mountain-wear makes me realise just how little of the city I've actually seen. I mean, I grew up and spent the majority of my life here, but there are entire streets I've just never been down, because there was never any need to. I suddenly feel like a tourist in my own home town.

I find the place I'm looking for – eventually – and am in and out in half an hour, returning home with bags filled with… gear. There's really no other word for it. Well, none that exists in my dictionary, anyway.

"What the hell is all this?"

Zeke scares the crap out of me and I almost drop everything. "Jeepers! You could have said you were there."

"You could have used your eyes," he retorts, still glaring at the Ominous Pile of Things. "And who says 'jeepers' anymore? But seriously, what is all this junk?"

"What does it look like?"

"Junk."

I drop my bags on top of the pile. "Right. I think I might have everything now."

Zeke snorts. "You planning on carrying all that on your back?"

Oh, crap. I didn't think of that.

"Maybe dad could airmail some of it to mom's."

"What if you need it?"

He has a point. Damn. I chew my lip, perplexed. Oh, I'll just sort that out later. "How'd it go with Camilla?"

Zeke scowls at nothing, which I correctly interpret as synonymous for 'not good'.

"So, I'm not making this trip alone, then? Goody!"

I feign sarcasm, but to be honest, I'd actually be kind of relieved to have Zeke tag along. Any company would be better than going it alone.

"The battle's not over yet," Zeke growls. "Far from it. She'll have to drag me by the ear to get me outta this apartment, and I'll be fighting her tooth and nail the whole damn way."

"That doesn't sound very fun," I comment amiably.

He stalks off to his room.

I drag an empty suitcase from one of the gazillion storage closets in the penthouse and begin filling it with stuff. Unfortunately for me, it doesn't all fit. So I start to fill a second.

It gets late before I realise it. When I finally manage to squeeze in the last pair of explorer socks, it's half past ten, and neither dad nor Camilla have shown their faces. This more than likely means they're not coming home tonight.

Lovely. No farewell party to wave me off in the morning.

I sit on the case and attempt to zip it up, huffing irritably when the zipper stubbornly refuses to comply. I've got my work cut out for me; it's harder than I expected.

"What are you doing?"

Zeke appears in the doorway, Rex poking out from behind his legs.

"Packing. What does it look like, genius?"

"You know you should be taking a hiking pack," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?"

"There's no way you'll be able to carry those all the way to Kanto."

Ugh. Just great. "This means I have to re-pack, doesn't it?"

"Have fun with that."

Rex snickers. Zeke continues on to the kitchen. I listen to him pouring himself a bowl of cereal as I reluctantly empty the suitcase. I'm getting pretty tired, and I'm seriously not looking forward to having to re-pack, but there's no way in hell I'm asking Zeke for help, as nice as that would be.

I hunt out a 'hiking' pack, and am adequately surprised to find my dad actually has one stuffed away in the back of his closet. It's old and tattered and covered with dust; I sneeze violently as I pull it out.

But it fits the description pretty closely, so it'll have to do.

I re-pack. It takes me forever, and I most likely haven't done a fantastic job, but when it's done I sigh with huge relief and drag myself off to collapse on my bed.

Dad and Camilla still aren't home.

X3

Morning dawns, and I'm awake at the Dodrio cry, feeling severely sleep-deprived. Not quite groggy enough, though, to forget that Rex has probably laid another of his ingenious routine traps for me, and I roll over quietly to peek over the edge of the bed.

Yep. He's there. Little twerp.

Feeling completely smug to have out-witted him, I clamber out the other side of my bed and tiptoe to the en-suite, where I left today's clothes in a neat pile on the toilet seat last night. It's a pretty basic outfit; jeans, sneakers, and my favourite sweater. It's loose, grey, and thin, sporting a big, fat Magikarp in the centre.

Look, my sweater's rad, okay? It brings me good luck.

I brush my hair, clean my teeth, splash myself properly awake, and start trying to pep talk myself into the overwhelming event that is today. It's not going down very well. Nerves jitter in my stomach, and my head feels sort of light and funny, like I might just pass out any second. Or wake up and discover the whole thing was just a fantastically realistic nightmare.

Don't even try, Grace.

I tiptoe back through my room, picking up my cell and wallet on the way through – the last two things to go into the pack before I leave. Then I quietly but firmly shut the door behind me, locking Rex inside.

That'll teach him.

I hum quietly to myself, momentarily absorbed in my small victory, and pad down to the kitchen for some breakfast. Zeke's not up yet, which means I actually get to eat this morning. Happy face. I pour myself some Flareon Flakes, conveniently finishing off the box, and munch away happily at the breakfast bar, wondering how long it's going to be before I sit here again like this.

It's a sobering thought. I try not to dwell on it.

With breakfast out of the way, there's really nothing keeping me here. I wander slowly out to the front door, loitering a bit and trying to procrastinate. But there's really nothing to procrastinate with, other than giving Mr. Mitten's plushy bed a good farewell kick, so I reluctantly haul my pack onto my shoulders.

And promptly go down like a sack of potatoes.

Holy Miltank, that pack is heavy.

With a muffled squeak, I struggle upright, rearrange the straps, blow my bangs out of my eyes, and reassess the situation. Clearly, I'm going to have to do something about this.

After a whole two seconds' brainstorming, I deduce that I'm simply going to have to try again. I take a deep breath, steel my muscles, and push off the carpet, leaning heavily against the wall as I stand up. I have to lock my knees to keep from toppling again.

But it's a start, nonetheless. I'm up.

It takes a few minutes for my body to get used to the extra pounds it suddenly has to account for, but eventually I'm able to take a few steps and work out how to distribute my weight without overbalancing. Five minutes' walking practise later, and I'm confident enough to leave the penthouse.

It's a nice day outside, for which I will be eternally grateful. With my luck, I'd been expecting it to pour all day.

I stand on the sidewalk and tilt my head back, squinting up at the building that has been my entire life for the last fifteen years. And I think to myself: It's just a building.

Sunshine Terrace on thirty-third will always be here. I can always come back to it. So, I guess, in a sense, my dad was kind of right, though I seriously doubt he actually believed any of the crap he was sprouting during that impressive spiel of his.

The point is, my home isn't going anywhere.

With a newfound spring in my step, I set off.

My cell rings, and I almost trip over.

"Hello?"

"You _locked_ Rex in your room? How cruel can you get?" Zeke snaps furiously down the line.

"Did I?" I say in mock astonishment, feigning surprise. "I didn't see him in there when I got up this morning. Pass on my apologies, would you?"

"Real funny, wise-ass," Zeke growls. "Where are you?"

"Uh... downstairs?"

"Wait there."

I scuff my sneaker and lean against the brick wall as I obediently wait, people-watching the smartly-dressed businessmen walking briskly along, yabbering away impatiently on their cells while they hurry to their important meetings.

"There you–What the hell are you wearing?"

I frown at Zeke, offended. "My lucky Magikarp sweater."

He says nothing more, but he doesn't need to. I shuffle uncomfortably where I stand, flushing with embarrassment. Jerk. How dare he make fun of my lucky sweater? Bet _he_ doesn't have a lucky sweater.

"Taking off just like that, are you?"

"Why – do you care?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

"But don't you think it's a little irrational?"

"Why would I?" I ask. "Camilla wants me out ASAP. May as well make this easy for everyone."

"And where exactly are you heading to from here?"

Uh… whoops.

Zeke lifts one eyebrow pointedly, looking highly amused. "Y'know, sometimes I really think you just drew the short straw in the 'intelligence' part of creation. Have you even got a map?"

Whoops again. "Shut up."

Zeke shakes his head smugly. "You're not going to last a day."

I don't stop to think about how comically like him I'm going to sound when I retort, "Watch me."

"Looks like I'm going to have to," he replies with a hugely exaggerated sigh. "Come on, airhead. Let's go."

"Wait," I say, confused, as he starts off up the sidewalk. It's only then that I notice the bag on his back. "What?"

Zeke turns and gives me a funny look. Like I'm the world's biggest idiot.

I hate it when he does that.

"I'm coming with. And I'm going to get you back for finishing the cereal."

"Stop. Rewind," I say, planting my hands on my hips and narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously. "And replay. And while you're at it, explain?"

"What? That you're _so_ dead for eating the last of the Flareon Flakes? Pretty straightforward, I thought."

"Hah-hah. So not what I mean, genius, and you know it. What came before that?"

He shrugs. "Someone's gotta make sure you don't die in a ditch."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say sarcastically. "But that still doesn't explain what you're doing out here."

"Like I said, I'm coming with," he says lightly. "Feel free to shower me with your undying gratitude anytime you're ready."

"Who said you were invited?" I snap childishly.

He just rolls his eyes. "Move it, Spacey. We're never gonna get anywhere if you just stand around outside the apartment all day."

He starts off again, and the light bulb suddenly clicks on in my head. Everything makes instant, crystal-clear, _hilariously _perfect sense. "Camilla threatened to freeze your account, didn't she?"

Zeke says nothing, but there's the slightest twitch in his left shoulder, and I grin widely, knowing I've hit the nail smack bang in the middle of the head. I laugh. Looks like the big, bad, stubborn boy was easily convinced, after all.

Shameful.

"Hurry up," Zeke snaps stiffly, and stalks ahead. Still chortling smugly to myself, I trot to catch up with him.

And, just like that, we're officially on our merry little way.


	4. The Third Chapter!

**~ Three ~**

**On Decidedly Unpromising Beginnings and Hot Tempers**

* * *

"Zeeeke… I'm me-e-elting… _Me-e-e-e-e-elting_."

I drag my feet along, pretending my limbs are dripping away under the sun.

Zeke doesn't look up from the map. "Stop being so dramatic."

But I'm seriously not. It's seriously hot today. Bug Pokémon are singing away madly in the surrounding trees, and the sun overhead is beating down like nobody's business.

"I'm hot. And hungry. And I'm tired of walking."

Two hours out of Goldenrod City, and we're off to a smashing start. To be honest, I'm pretty damn proud that we even managed to clear the National Park. It's a good forty-five minute walk through the city to even reach the park, and then it's another half hour to make it through it. Easily.

I confess, I'm not much for sightseeing en foot.

"I wish I had a Bicycle."

"No, you don't," Zeke replies. "Your legs would kill you by the end of the day, and there's gonna be a lot of uphill walking."

"Fabulous." I groan dramatically. "Is it lunch time yet?"

"Not even close. It's ten thirty."

"I'm dying for a Ragecandybar."

"Are you going to stop complaining at all during this trip?"

"Probably not." I can't help that I'm naturally gifted at whining.

We keep walking for about five minutes before my patience wears thin again. "Zeeeeeeeke."

"Oh my god, Grace! Fine, we'll stop." He glares at me, ticked off. "But you only get ten minutes."

I drop my pack gleefully and flop down on the grass, stretching out languidly.

Zeke decided to set course for Olivine City, where we're going to grab ourselves some tickets for the regular ferry to Vermillion City in Kanto. We have absolutely no idea how long it's going to take us, as neither of us has been anywhere in Johto that doesn't take a maximum three hours in a private helicopter. Actually, I lie. Once, when I was much younger, dad and I made a trip to Cianwood, and that took four hours in his jet plane.

But anyway, the point is, we're just walking until we get there. It's not like we have anything better to do. And it's the only plan we've got. Plus, when I glanced at the map, it looked like the shortest option, which I was totally down with taking.

"You should probably let El Scorchio out," Zeke says presently.

I glance up at him. "Why?"

He rolls his eyes. "Wouldn't you like a break from being cramped inside that tiny little ball all day? He might be hungry. Pokémon are just like people, you know. Routine basic needs, and all that."

"Wait, so what happens if he needs to pee?" I ask curiously. "But I don't let him out of the Pokéball?"

Zeke just shakes his head. "I'm letting Rex out."

"Don't. He'll bite me."

"Only if I tell him to," Zeke replies with a slightly fiendish grin. "Rex!" He tosses his Pokéball, and the little blue water dinosaur materialises. He shakes out his leathery little body and shoots a happy jet of water straight into my face.

Zeke roars with laughter as I splutter in shock, icy droplets dripping from my chin.

"One day," I growl, "I swear I'm going to roast that little pest on a spit."

"Now, now," Zeke warns. "There's no need to be nasty."

"Put a leash on that slimy beast of yours," I snap back, "or I can't promise I won't kill it in its sleep."

"Rex," Zeke says with a sigh and a heavy eye roll in my direction, "Go explore for a while, but don't wander too far."

With a raspberry directed at me, Rex scarpers off.

"As I was saying," Zeke says, scrummaging around in his bag, "You should let El Scorchio out."

Alright, already. I can take a hint. "Fine. But don't blame me if he sets the forest on fire."

I retrieve the wooden box from my pack and, pressing my mouth into a firm line, thrust my fingers inside, already anticipating hot pain. Like clockwork, the ball is white-hot and scalding.

"Sweet Jesus!"

The Pokéball flies, and with the classic sound of Pokéball-bursting-open, El Scorchio makes his grand entrance. He stretches his gooey neck, emitting little popping noises as he steadily burns the grass through to the hard earth underneath.

"Maaa."

"Hey, El Scorchio."

He flatly ignores me, instead surveying his surroundings with mild interest.

"Do you think that's really his name?" I ask Zeke.

"Does he respond to anything else?" he replies, opening a small cardboard box and giving it a shake. Into his hand tumble several round items of consumption that resemble biscuits.

"What're they?" I ask curiously.

"Pokémon snacks. Want one?"

"Sure." I reach out.

He snatches his hand away. "I was kidding, you idiot. They're snacks _for_ _Pokémon_. Not people."

I flush hotly, folding my arms across my chest, ashamed. "Well I didn't know that."

"I'm starting to wonder just how much you don't know."

"I'm going for a walk," I snap, suddenly desiring to be out of his presence.

"No, you're not, or we'll pack up and hit the road again," Zeke retorts. "Enjoy your grass while you can."

I sigh audibly, keeling over backwards to stare up into the blue sky. I don't want to ask Zeke any more questions, lest he insults my intelligence again (which he no doubt will, as he's made it perfectly clear it's a favourite pastime of his), but my sudden insatiable curiosity for Pokémon gets the better of me.

"Will El Scorchio like those snacks?"

"Maybe. I don't know; he's not my Pokémon, is he?"

"Can you stop being so patronising? I'm just asking."

"Why don't you try feeding him one and see for yourself?" Zeke suggests. There's a slight rustle, then the box of treats lands somewhere near my feet.

I sit up, reaching for it. "Are they sweet or savoury?"

"Ask your Slugma."

"Hey, El Scorchio." He glances over apathetically, giving me one slow blink of reluctant acknowledgement. "I have some snacks here. You want one?"

"Ma."

"They're really good."

"Ma."

He stares at me. I'm not sure what this means exactly.

"Here, let me try." Zeke swipes the box from my fingers. "Rex, c'mere."

A happy hissing noise comes from the bushes some ways away, and, with a rustling of leaves, Rex bounds over, pausing only for a moment as he passes by El Scorchio to take a curious sniff of the newcomer. El Scorchio ignores him.

"Only one, okay?" Zeke says, holding out his palm.

"Dile!"

Rex snatches one of the round snacks in his tiny claws and scarfs it down in one greedy motion. I actually don't think he even used any of those lethal little teeth of his to chew it. Disgusting. I hope he suffers severe indigestion.

El Scorchio is still watching.

"Here," Zeke says, offering one out to him. "You wanna try one?"

"Ma." El Scorchio stares at him, and it occurs to me that this might, in fact, be his 'thinking' face. That's awkward.

After an agonisingly long moment, he apparently decides we're not trying to poison him, and he starts his steady snail-crawl towards Zeke.

"Is he always going to move this slowly?" I whisper, so he won't overhear and get offended.

"Maaa."

Whoops. Guess Pokémon have acute hearing.

"I'm going to say yes," Zeke replies. "Even if it's just to spite you."

"He really doesn't like me, does he?"

"Seems that way."

"Why? I haven't done anything to him."

"You mean, aside from frequently insulting his intelligence?" Zeke scoffs.

"Aside from that, yeah."

"Maybe you just don't have enough experience." Zeke shrugs. "Some Pokémon won't respect a Trainer who hasn't proved themself worthy."

"What do you mean 'worthy'?" I demand.

I've never heard of that happening before. All the Pokémon in elementary school adored those kids. But of course, with my luck, I end up with a Pokémon that thinks I'm a total noob.

Which, let's face it, I pretty much am. I guess I can't really blame him.

"Well, you don't have any Badges," Zeke says thoughtfully. "He might not think you're a good enough Trainer yet."

"But I'm not a Trainer," I reply. "Just because I own a Pokémon doesn't automatically make me a Trainer. What if I don't even _want_ to battle?"

"Good luck earning his respect, then."

Ugh. Just great. This is absolutely fantastic. El Scorchio's going to hate me forever, unless I decide to participate in the brutality of pitting him against another Pokémon.

To be honest, I've always found the whole battling thing kind of pointless, like a fist-fight at school.

"You know, battling is good for Pokémon," Zeke informs me. "It keeps them healthy. It's like exercise. If you don't let El Scorchio battle with some kind of regularity, he'll get fat."

A fat Slugma? I try to picture it.

You know what? I'm pretty down with that. "I think he'd be cute."

"Okay, let me make this perfectly clear, right now. A Slugma will never be _cute_."

"Maaa."

"Yeah," I say indignantly to El Scorchio, who has abruptly turned and is sending us the evil eye. "You hear that? He doesn't think you're cute. What a meanie."

El Scorchio snorts a plume of flame that I yelp and duck to avoid. Wow, that's hot.

"Why are you taking this out on me?" I complain. "I didn't insult you."

"Ma."

He slithers away. Beside me, Zeke is snorting with laughter.

"You're such a jerk."

"He's got quite a temper, doesn't he?"

"No thanks to you," I grumble, picking myself up from the dirt. I reach for El Scorchio's Pokéball and am pleasantly surprised to find it cool to the touch.

"Why does his Pokéball always burn my fingers?"

"Huh?"

"Seriously. When I pick it up, it burns me."

Zeke snatches the Pokéball from my hand and gives me a look like he clearly thinks I'm insane.

"There's nothing wrong with it."

"Well, not right now there's not. He has to be in it. Duh."

He shoves it back at me. "Return him, then."

I raise the Pokéball, and, feeling incredibly cool, like one of those awesome Trainers they showcase on TV, pose and say firmly, "El Scorchio, Return."

There's a moment's pause after the fire slug disappears into the ball, then Zeke says, flatly, "You thoroughly enjoyed that, didn't you?"

I grin goofily. "I've always wanted to do that." Then, "Aha! Here, see? It's hot again! Argh, too hot!"

I drop the Pokéball, and Zeke reaches for it, his expression one of extreme surprise. He rolls it around in his fingers, then tosses it up and down, narrowing his eyes at me suspiciously. "I don't know what you're talking about. It's perfectly normal."

My eyes widen. "You're kidding. Give it here." He tosses it at me, and I catch it for all of half a second before dropping it like a hot potato and violently shaking off the pain throbbing in my fingers. "Ow! I don't understand, Zeke. Look at this."

I hold my hand out so he can inspect my tell-tale blisters. He brushes the tips of his fingers over them lightly, and I flinch.

"Weird," Zeke decides, dropping my hand. "It probably has something to do with the whole respect thing."

"So his Pokéball is going to mutilate my fingers every time I touch it until he likes me?" I guess, unable to keep the horror from creeping into my voice. It's a tragic prospect. I don't think El Scorchio is ever going to like me.

I'm not kidding.

"I'm no expert, but I'm going to say probably."

I groan. Perfect. Looks like I'm going to have to invest in some durable gloves. Pronto.

"Well," Zeke says with a light sigh, "It's been longer than ten minutes. Up you get, Spacey. Time to hit the road."

X3

Our first night on Route 36 is awful. There is no other word for it.

For starters, we walk right up until sunset, because Zeke, for some unknown reason, decides to spite me and push on every time I ask to stop. So by the time he finally lets up, my legs are shaking with exhaustion, my shoulders and back are aching from the weight of the pack, and I'm so tired and hungry that I'm in absolutely no mood to try and set up a campsite.

But I do anyway, or we won't have anywhere to sleep. And I am _not _sleeping under the trees, where Bug Pokémon can fall on my face.

To make matters worse, it gets dark really quickly. I mean _really _quickly. In the space of about ten minutes the sun has dropped from the sky and slipped below the horizon, and darkness quietly creeps in on us like spores settling from a Butterfree's wings.

Thus, I can't see what I'm doing as I'm trying to unpack the tent.

"What the hell are you doing?" Zeke demands, as I try to put together the poles. I turn to look at him, and swing the pole with me, accidentally whacking him in the face. "Argh! Jesus Christ, Grace!"

"Sorry!" I exclaim, and promptly drop it.

"Watch what you're doing."

"I didn't mean to!"

He curses a bit more, then stalks off, throwing a spiteful, "The tent's upside down", over his shoulder. I look at the square of material I've spread out on the grass, like the instruction manual told me to, and try to work out what he means.

I give up and go back to putting together the poles.

"Are you seriously that demented?" Zeke snaps when he returns and discovers the tent still not upright. I ignore him, frustrated out of my mind. I've spent the last fifteen minutes trying to work out where the damn poles are meant to slide in, and I can't do it. The tent is seriously retarded. The stupid thing doesn't make any sense.

And the manual is a liar. It told me it would be easy. It's not.

"I told you it's upside down," Zeke growls, flipping the material over irritably.

Oh, now I get it. There are those slips I was looking for.

"Give it here," Zeke snaps, snatching the pole from me. Muttering angrily to himself, he roughly shoves the pole in the sleeve.

"Careful – you're going to rip it," I warn. He ignores me and keeps shoving.

_Rrrip!_

"Look," I say, breaking the long, awfully priceless silence. "I hate to say I told you so–"

"Then don't say it!" Zeke snaps fiercely. I hold my hands up in a gesture of peace and back away. If he wants to destroy the tent, he can do it on his own. I'll take no part in it. There's no way he's going to even have the slightest chance to blame me for any of this.

After a few minutes, Zeke growls his frustration into the night and barks at me, "Get me a torch! It's impossible to see in this damn darkness!"

Of course, I realise with a nasty sinking feeling in my stomach, my torch is at the very bottom of my pack. Where else would it be? Naturally, not at the top, where it really should be, because I'm stupid, and packed it first, acknowledging its vast necessity. I didn't think to pack it last for convenience.  
I try to empty out my pack as quietly as possible, so as not to attract Zeke's attention and direct his horrible wrath unto me. Finally, I find the torch, and, flicking it on, scurry over to where he's waiting.

"God, take your time, much?"

He sweeps the torch around our campsite for the night, highlighting my strewn belongings all over the grass.

He sighs audibly. "You packed it first, didn't you? You're such an idiot."

"Okay, seriously, can you just stop it? You think I don't realise now how dumb it was to pack the torch first?" I snap.

"Well if you just used your brain every once in a while–"

"I get it, Zeke! I made a mistake. I won't do it again. Get over it!"

"You've made more than one. If you'd just listened to me, the tent would've been up by now."

"Says you! If you'd stopped walking earlier, we'd be doing this in daylight, and we wouldn't even be having this problem!"

"And we'd have further to walk tomorrow," he retorts furiously. "If you weren't so slow, maybe we _could've_ stopped earlier!"

I shriek angrily, my temper blowing a fuse, and stomp off into the trees. It doesn't take me long to realise the idiocy of such an irrational decision, because my anger quickly subsides and is replaced with fear of the unknown. Especially when I realise I've left El Scorchio's Pokéball back at the campsite. A chill creeps down my arms, despite the summer heat, and my heartbeat races, thumping loudly in my ears as my brain exaggerates the noises of the forest night. I suddenly feel like I'm being watched, and it spooks me.

I turn around and race back, feeling foolish and sheepish when Zeke looks up as I emerge from the trees, his blue eyes colder and more piercing than shards of shattered ice.

We say nothing to each other for the rest of the night.

Luckily, he's got the tent up, and I toss my rolled-up sleeping bag inside. Zeke sits outside, crunching a bag of crisps with irritating exaggeration – which I know is deliberate – so, feeling childish and petty, I kick all my belongings inside the mouth of the tent, clamber inside, and zip the door closed, refusing to eat despite the terrible hunger gnawing at my insides.

I kick my sneakers off and curl up in my sleeping bag, feeling pathetically sorry for myself. The ground is hard, there's a rock right under my right shoulder, the tent is already broken, I'm practically starving, and even after I strip off my lucky sweater I'm way too hot, but somehow, I manage to drift into an uneasy sleep, the first seeds of doubt about this trip planted firmly in the back of my subconscious.


	5. The Fourth Chapter!

**A/N: **For anyone who's interested, **CarpeDiemEveryday** has named the Grace/Zeke pairing: PseudoIncestShipping. If there are any other ideas for other shippings, feel free to input them! I'm hopeless with shipping names, so let me know if you think of something. :)

* * *

**~ Four ~**

**On Unpleasant Surprises and Unfortunate Phobias**

* * *

For the first time in years, there's no Dodrio cry, but I'm awake at first light nonetheless. I lie there for a while, ignoring the rock digging into my back, staring up at the roof. The thin tent wall distorts the light filtering in through the tiny window, tinting it faded red.

It takes me all of ten minutes to realise it's far too stuffy in here, and I wrestle out of the sleeping bag, which tangles itself snakelike around my legs.

I decide I don't like sleeping bags.

Zeke hooked a detachable nylon sheet from the roof sometime in the night – probably before he went to sleep – and it creates a white wall between us. I can hear him snoring softly on the other side of the tiny tent, and resist the strong urge to kick him as I crawl to the door.

I zip it open, pull it aside, and poke my head out into the morning.

And scream.

Zeke's awake instantly, shouting groggily at me in his state of semi-consciousness. I'm still screaming in horror at the three purple rat-like Pokémon digging through all my belongings. By now, I've startled them half to death, too, and with several chirping noises of alarm, they flee.

"What the hell is going on?" Zeke grumbles, ripping aside the tent door. He intakes sharply. "What the…?"

The Pokémon have ferreted through everything and torn open all the packets of food. I have a horrible, sneaking suspicion they've just chowed down almost all the edibles from my pack.

"You left the tent flap open, didn't you?" Zeke demands, surveying the sad mess.

"What do you mean?" I retort, close to tears. "You went to sleep after me. Shouldn't you have closed it?"

He sighs through his nose. "Never leave food out overnight."

"You could have put it away for me – I was asleep!"

"Not my responsibility."

Zeke climbs out of the tent, and I sniffle for a while in solitude, allowing myself the luxury of feeling miserable. My stomach is in immense pain due to my skipped meal last night, and now I have nothing to offer it. Woe is me.

Crying only makes me feel worse, though, so I eventually wipe my eyes and begin dejectedly re-packing what's left of my belongings.

"You coming out or not?" Zeke calls shortly. He's still testy about our fight, and to be honest, so am I. Right now he's the last person on the planet I want to be sharing this horrible morning with.

I ignore him.

"Don't be such a baby," he says, annoyed. I flush where I'm sitting, fighting with my pride for a long moment. I win out, and, pulling on my lucky sweater, struggle outside. It's quite a pleasant morning, actually, slightly on the cool side, and I inhale fresh air as I stand. Pain sears instantly through all the muscles in my back, which have worked themselves into a tight knot thanks to the rock I slept on.

Several of my vertebrae crack unpleasantly. Owie.

I press my fingers gingerly against my skin, searching for bruises. Yep – there's at least two. Fabulous.

Zeke doesn't look up from where he's sitting. "Having fun yet?"

"Shut up," I snap, without a hint of humour. I stomp away into the trees, busting for the toilet. It takes me all of half a second to decide it's the most unpleasant experience I've ever had, especially when I look up and find I have company; a curious Pidgey that croons at me from the safety of an overhead branch and cocks its head to one side.

I shriek at it, and with a startled squawk, it takes flight, disappearing into the trees.

Good riddance. Damn perverted bird.

I stomp back to the campsite.

"Here," Zeke says, mentioning nothing about the episode he must have overheard in the bushes. He tosses me a piece of fruit and a packet of biscuits. "It's not good to skip meals, especially out here."

He says nothing else, but I figure this must be his way of somehow finding it in the depths of his black heart to pity me. It seems to me the food might be some sort of feeble peace offering.

I take it. I'm not in the mood to fight with him.

That and my pride knows when to back down with humility.

"Thanks."

We breakfast in silence. I don't protest when he lets Rex out to eat, and he doesn't goad the water crocodile into provoking me. Even Rex seems to have sensed it's not the right time or place to be causing trouble. He just sits there quietly, nibbling his Pokémon food and occasionally sneezing water from his nostrils.

I let El Scorchio out, but all he does is crawl away from the campsite, refuse to acknowledge any of us, and ignore our offerings of food. Plus he leaves burned trails in the grass.

So I recall him. Stubborn little git.

We clean up and pack up, and I reluctantly haul the pack back onto my sore shoulders. My muscles protest loudly, but I ignore them. It's not like I have the luxury of not carrying it. Zeke says nothing as we hit the road, but I'm sure we've left later than he was hoping. The sun is pretty high in the sky as we finally leave the horrid campsite behind, which can't be a good sign.

I walk without complaining for the rest of the morning.

It's hotter today than it was yesterday, and by midday, I'm a sweaty mess. When Zeke finally decides it's time to stop for lunch, my relief is so overwhelming the pack practically falls from my shoulders, and I snap my wrist out to catch it. Unfortunately, the coarse strap tears the tender skin from my burns, and pain lances violently through my hand.

I drop the pack like it's bitten me, and grab at my injured fingers. "Mother of God!"

"Let me have a look," Zeke says, and I don't argue, just offer him my palm. He sucks in a breath between his teeth. "Nice work."

"Asshole."

"Sit down," he instructs, and I swallow back my tears as he wraps a gauze bandage around my hand. When he's done, he straightens up again. "You're a disaster waiting to happen, you know that?"

"I'd noticed," I say sourly. "But thanks for pointing it out."

I examine my mummified hand, glumly noting its uselessness. It's my preferred hand, too.

Damn it.

"Well," I say, mock-brightly, and Zeke glances at me. "At least I'll be able to hold El Scorchio's Pokéball now."

For some reason, we're both unexplainably starving, and we pig out on a good portion of Zeke's snacks. I chug down a can of Lemonade and wrinkle my nose. It's warm. The sugar hit is worth it, though.

"Maybe you should try feeding him again," Zeke comments presently.

"He's not going to budge," I reply bitterly.

"No harm in trying."

Actually, I think, there could easily be, when it comes to El Scorchio. There could be lots of harm in trying. Especially if he tries to set me on fire again.

But, hey. He probably _is _hungry. I have no idea when he last ate.

I let him out, and he glares between us before attempting another slow getaway.

"Hey, El Scorchio," I call after him. "You've gotta be getting hungry. Come have some of Zeke-o-zoid's snacks."

"Ma," he returns stubbornly.

Oh my god, he's so frustrating. "You're going to make yourself sick."

"Ma."

I feel like shouting at him_, do you _want_ to die of starvation_? But I don't. I doubt it would help the situation. Instead, I clamber to my feet, snatch up the packet of Pokémon food in my good hand, and stomp off after him.

It takes all of three strides to catch him up.

"Look, pal," I say. "I know you don't like me. And I know you don't like Zeke. And you probably don't like Rex, either. In fact, I kind of doubt you like _anybody. _But the fact is, you're stuck with us. We're not going anywhere, and neither are you, no matter how many escapes you attempt. You haven't eaten in two days, and this stubborn attitude of yours is only going to inconvenience _you_."

He turns his yellow glare on me.

"I don't want you to get sick," I continue. "Zeke doesn't want you to get sick. We're not trying to poison you, trick you, or get your guard down. It's just food. It'll keep you alive. You don't have to like me, but you have to work with me, at the very least, otherwise this little trip thing is going to be extremely uncomfortable for everybody. So here–" I open the packet and shake a few morsels onto the grass. "Enjoy."

El Scorchio opens his mouth and directs a tongue of flame at my head. I squeal and dodge to the side, but not quite fast enough; the jet grazes my cheek. I yowl in pain and stumble away, my face searing.

"Holy–" Zeke's words drop away as he gets up to inspect my newly acquired burn with wide, blue eyes. I slap his hands away, tears streaming down my face, stinging the fresh wound.

"Leave it."

"Grace–"

"Just _leave it_, Zeke!" I snap. "It's fine."

"That needs treatment."

"And where am I going to go?" I shriek. "Do you see a hospital anywhere around here?"

I'm being unreasonable, but I can't help it. I'm seriously pissed off. I swipe up my pack, ignoring my body's various protests, and stomp off, past El Scorchio, who's inhaling the snacks and looking infuriatingly pleased with himself.

I get a small kick of satisfaction out of recalling him before he gets to finish his meal. Vindictive, evil little lava slug. I'll show him.

Someday.

When I'm less fearful of his fire attacks.

"Grace," Zeke calls after me, scrambling hastily to grab all his things and follow. "Slow down."

"Let's just go," I snap angrily. "The sooner we get out of this godforsaken forest, the better."

The afternoon wears on and wears thin on my patience when I realise we're not going to reach civilisation before nightfall. Zeke is smart enough today not to push on until sunset, and we stop earlier to make camp.

Together, we wordlessly work out how to pitch the tent properly, and our success is an inspiring sign after the general disaster of yesterday. I pull out my sleeping bag, leaving everything else in the pack, and toss them both in the tent.

As the sun sets, Zeke and I share a lazy dinner of chocolate, muesli bars and salty crisps. Then, neither of us in the mood to talk, we zip up the flap and door of the tent, and Zeke pegs up the white wall between us.

I curl up, the good side of my face against the pillow, and promptly fall asleep.

X3

For the first time in my life, I oversleep.

When I wake, the sun is streaming in through the tiny window, and I can hear Zeke scrounging around outside. Shock plummets in my stomach and I jerk upright. What time is it? Late enough, I can tell, that we should have left ages ago.

I kick my way to freedom and fall out of the tent.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" I demand. Zeke looks up from his bag, which he's just about finished re-packing.

"I took it as a sign that you needed it," he replies simply. "You've sustained a bad burn, Grace. Your body needs all the help it can get to heal itself."

I run my hands through my hair, not coping. "But we're _never going to get out of here_ at this rate. I don't care if this burn _kills me_ – as long as we're not in this stupid forest when it happens!"

Okay, it's a little dramatic, I'll admit. But I'm seriously going out of my mind.

"You're not going to die, Grace."

"Duly noted. Now, please, can we just get going?"

"Breakfast first."

"No time!"

"Sit," he commands. "Eat this." He shoves some of the leftover muesli bars into my hands. "I'll pack up the tent. Then we'll go."

X3

"How do you know so much about all this?" I ask, chewing on a banana thoughtfully.

"About what?"

"All this… outdoorsy stuff."

Zeke shrugs. "I did a couple of Trainer camps at school. Didn't you?"

"I never went to Trainer School."

"Explains why you don't know anything."

"Explains why you do. And here I was, thinking you were just intelligent."

Zeke pushes up from where he's lying on the grass. We're in the densest part of the forest, and the trees close in tightly around us, the midday sun trying its best to filter down through the leafy canopy, and failing. I'm starting to feel the fingers of claustrophobia creeping around my windpipe, but I'm trying to ignore them.

We'll be out of here soon. I just have to keep telling myself that.

Well, we _have _to be almost out of here. I'm not sure how much more of this forest I can take.

"So wait, you _never _went to Trainer school," Zeke repeats. "Ever?"

"Never," I confirm.

"So you literally don't know _anything _about Pokémon."

Way to make me feel better about myself. "Test me, if you like. I'm sure I'll disappoint."

"I believe you."

"Thanks." My voice drips with sarcasm.

Sibling love. The strongest kind of love there is.

We're silent for a few moments, both of us watching Rex snapping playfully at a low-hanging branch.

"Teach me something," I say suddenly.

Zeke glances at me. "Like what?"

"Anything," I reply with a shrug. "Something that'll be useful for someone like me."

He blushes unexpectedly. That's interesting. "Well, I'd need to know exactly how much you don't know, before–"

Oh, god he's making this difficult. Jeepers.

"Okay," I interrupt, sparing him. "Say I was going to take you on with El Scorchio."

"You wouldn't," Zeke says instantly.

I frown. "Why not?"

"Because that would be practically suicidal."

"Why?" I say indignantly. "I'm sure El Scorchio could take Rex. Any day."

"You're kidding, right?" Zeke laughs. "Rex would annihilate El Scorchio. He has a type advantage."

Here we go. "A what?"

"A type advantage." Zeke stares at me. "You do know what that means, right?"

"Sure." No. What do you take me for, jerk? You know I haven't learned any of this crap. I know fire beats grass and water beats fire, but that's about the extent of my logical application. Technical terms like 'type advantage' are totally lost on me.

I pull a face.

"Okay," Zeke begins, sitting up and showing more enthusiasm than he has in the past two days. "So El Scorchio is a Fire-type Pokémon, right?"

"Right."

"That means he has a natural weakness against Water-type Pokémon, like Rex."

"Yes."

"So in a battle, El Scorchio's attacks would be half as effective against a Water-type in comparison to, say, a Grass-type, which they would be twice as effective against."

"Right."

Which is, basically, exactly what I just said. Just a fancier way of putting it.

"And then there are Pokémon with dual-types, which means they have strengths against some types and weaknesses against others, simultaneously. Or they have double-weaknesses. Makes sense, yeah?"

"Totally." Not. He'd completely lost me somewhere around 'dual-types'. Time to back-track to square one. "So, how many types are there in total?"

He looks away shiftily, the faintest of blushes creeping up his neck. Ah, here we go. Looks like someone didn't pay attention in all their classes. "Uh. Lots."

"Which means you've totally forgotten, haven't you?"

Zeke scowls at me. "They're hard to remember, okay?"

"Sure." I grin widely at him.

He clambers to his feet. "I'm gonna go find Rex."

"Whatever, Zeke-o-zoid."

"Don't call me that."

He disappears into the dense trees, his footsteps crashing in the undergrowth.

It takes me all of five minutes sitting in the thick silence by myself to realise something's not right. The second I sense the _wrongness_, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I suddenly notice the hazy grey fog swirling everywhere, like it's just spontaneously _appeared_. It's low to the ground, curling between the trees, and the forest view becomes distorted, like I'm suddenly in a dream state, or something.

I sit up, gooseflesh racing down my arms.

There's a quiet noise in the trees, and I jump violently, instantly alert. My heart thumps loudly in my ears. I strain them for the tiniest noise, which comes again few moments later; the tiniest rustle in the bushes. Fear is metallic on my tongue.

"Zeke?"

I know it's not him, but my mind is desperately hoping I'm wrong.

The fog is rapidly thickening; in a matter of moments I'm sitting in a near white-out, and I'm utterly terrified. What the hell is going on?

"Zeke?" I call, and my voice trembles and breaks.

More noises come from the forest, and I squeak, suddenly needing to use the bathroom. My stomach squirms as I peer around for signs of life, and my heart stops suddenly. Crawling from the higher branches of one of the trees is the bright green, unmistakably arachnid body of a Spinarak.  
I taste bile in the back of my throat.

Anything – _anything _– but that.

Its legs wriggle violently and my stomach lurches. I scramble backwards, tearing my eyes away from my biggest fear, and my back hits something solid, knocking the breath from me. I gasp for air as pain and shock spasm through my chest, and feel behind me anxiously.

Oh, it's just another tree. Thank god.

I can see the Spinarak crawling in the corner of my vision, so I look away, and nearly wet myself.

There's another. Right near me.

It looks at me, wriggling its six striped legs slowly, tantalisingly. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

"Z-Zeke!" I whimper, sounding pathetically like a kitten mewing in the rain.

And then I spot a third spider Pokémon, and I lose it. Silvery webs hang high up between the trunks of the trees, creating a makeshift, fragile prison. I'm trapped in. There are spider webs on all sides. There's no escape; the Spinarak are going to get me.

An oddly sane voice in the back of my mind wonders idly if Spinarak are carnivorous.

But it only gets worse. As I attempt to scramble to my feet, something emerges from the corner of my sight, and I wail as a huge, fat, red arachnid crawls into view. It's as big as me, with long, pointy-tipped legs striped yellow and purple, and beady eyes that bore straight into mine.

It's ghastly; nightmarish.

"_Zeke_!" I scream. It's piercing and long, and if I wasn't so terrified I'd be horribly ashamed of myself for making such a weak, vulnerable sound.

The spider Pokémon squeals threateningly at me and advances forward. The fear is just too much for my simple little human brain, and my light head is suddenly whirling with thick haziness. Black starts to creep into the edges of my vision, blurring my sight.

I faintly hear crashing steps somewhere in the trees, but I'm way too gone by now to cling to my consciousness. The last of my comprehensible thoughts slips through the fingers of my mind like soft, silky sand, and I drift with relief into the welcoming embrace of the comforting blackness.


	6. The Fifth Chapter!

**A/N: **I've decided to make chapters twice as long now. It gives you guys something more substantial to chew on. Someone let me know if they approve of this update, or if they prefer the shorter chapters?

* * *

**~ Five ~**

**On Ranger Delights and Erroneous Decisions**

* * *

"Grace."

I stir, and awaken. Zeke's looking down at me, his blue eyes big and wide.

"You okay?"

I struggle to sit up, rifling through my memories to try and piece together what's going on.

Oh, yep. There it all is. The fog. The clearing. The Spinarak.

Shudder.

I look around. I'm still in the clearing, but there's no fog. Strange. The sun gleams down between trees that are definitely spider-web-free.

Was it all a horrible dream, then? Odd. I don't remember going to sleep.

"Grace, are you okay?" Zeke repeats.

I look back at him, at his drawn, pallid, bloodless face, and the bags beneath his eyes.

"Yes." It sounds more like a question than a statement, but he doesn't look so crash-hot either. "Are you?"

Zeke sighs, drawing his hand over his face. "I'm not sure. Something really weird just happened. I'm not exactly sure what's going on right now."

"Join the club. I saw Spinarak. Everywhere. But they're gone now. I called for you, I think."

"You did. Believe me. Why didn't you call out El Scorchio?"

Actually, good question. "I wasn't thinking straight – I was just freaking out."

Zeke sighs again.

"Disturb the Stantler, did you?"

We both jump, startled by the new voice. Standing on the grassy path that winds its way between the trees, in a matching khaki shirt-and-shorts combo, is a middle-aged man and a stern-looking brown bird Pokémon, which looks at me with the unnerving notion of seeing right into my soul.

"I'm sorry – what?" Zeke says, getting to his feet. "Disturb the what?"

"Stantler," the man repeats. "They're native to this part of the forest. Deer Pokémon. Easily spooked. They have a habit of creating mirages to confuse their enemies."

"Mirages," I murmur, and I think I'm starting to understand.

"Seems you must have startled a couple," the man explains, coming forward. He offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet. "Not to worry. No harm done."

"Sorry," I say, looking at the man curiously. He seems like an important sort of person. He has an air of authority about him somehow, "but who are you?"

"Chip," the man replies with a broad smile. He shakes my good hand with broad fingers browned from days of working in the sun. He nods at the brown bird. "This is Noctowl. I'm one of the forest rangers."

Oh. A ranger. That makes sense.

"I'm Zeke," Zeke replies. "And this is my…" Yeah, we're never too sure exactly what the correct term for us is. We're a weird family. We usually leave off the part about how we _are_ related, but only _sort of_. It just makes things less awkward. "Uh, this is Grace."

"Hi," I say, attempting a smile. Chip claps me on the shoulder, and it hurts.

"That's a nasty burn you've got there," he comments, noticing my cheek. "You had that treated yet?"

"Uh, no," I reply. "I only got it yesterday. We haven't really found any houses or towns or anything yet."

"Well, I was coming past to warn you not to camp in this part of the woods. It's a protected zone, you see. Got to keep the Stantler safe and happy. But since you're only passing through, it looks like there's no need." He chuckles to himself. I glance at Zeke. "Well, why don't you come on back to the cabin for a bit? I've got some ointment you can put on that burn, and I'm sure a late lunch might help with the nasty run-in it sounds like you've had with that Stantler mirage."

I'm totally sold. This guy is my hero. "That would be amazing."

The log cabin is small and square, built up from the grass with a narrow veranda and deep green, tin roofing. There's some sort of insignia on the wooden door, crudely hand-painted but somehow endearing. The same insignia is stitched on the back of Chip's shirt.

It turns out it's the logo for the forest rangers. I confess my clever little brain had arrived at a suspiciously similar conclusion. Two plus two does equal four, after all.

Inside, there're only three rooms. A communal kitchen-lounge room-dining room, a bathroom, and what I correctly assume is a bedroom.

Chip starts digging around in the fridge and urges us to make ourselves comfortable.

"Nice place," Zeke mutters sarcastically, casting a critical eye over the shabby lounge room corner.

"I think it's quaint," I reply, sounding snotty and not caring.

"You two want some soup?" Chip calls.

Zeke raises an eyebrow. I glance over my shoulder and say, "Yes, please. That would be lovely." To Zeke I hiss, "Where are your manners, jerk?"

Zeke just shrugs dismissively, acting so much more like the spoiled only child of a wealthy cosmetic-company heiress than I've ever witnessed in my several years of tolerating him.

It doesn't suit him.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat," I mutter, as Chip hums away cheerfully, utensils clattering in the small kitchen behind us. "It's really ugly."

"Says you," Zeke mutters back.

I glare at him. "What the hell is your problem? You're being such an ass."

Zeke just looks away, out the window, effectively closing the conversation. No skin off my nose. I can think of a bazillion more productive things I could be doing with my time.

Like checking out Chip's awesome-smelling soup.

"What is it?" I ask, poking my head over his well-built shoulder.

Chip glances at me, smiles at my curiosity and replies, with measured pride, "Potato and leek, with Pidgey meat. Family recipe." Noctowl gives a low hoot from his purpose-built wooden perch above the window, from which he does a marvellous job of watching us.

I remember the Pidgey-perv from this morning and smile, inwardly vindictive. "It smells yummy."

He serves it up into three chipped bowls and we cluster around the square table, a crusty loaf of bread sliced on a plate in the middle.

I dig in enthusiastically, and quickly conclude that it's the best meal I've ever had. Ever. The soup warms me through – I hadn't even realised I was left cold and shaken from the Spinarak experience – and hits the spot _perfectly. _I bite into a thick piece of bread, far too amused by soaking it in soup than I really should be. But who cares? It's the first home-cooked, solid meal I've had in days, and it is _beyond _satisfying.

"You kids look pretty roughed up," Chip comments. "You been on the road long?"

I freeze, looking to Zeke as my face reddens. He conveniently stuffs his mouth with bread. Great. Throw me off the pier into deep water, why don't you? Jerk.

"Um–" I begin, but Chip holds up one hand.

"Doesn't matter. You gotta be careful round these parts, as I'm sure you now understand."

Speaking of which. "Yeah, what was up with that?"

"What exactly _happened_?" Zeke demands, putting down his spoon, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Chip sighs heavily. "Now, you need to understand that the Stantler don't do this with the intention of frightening or hurting anybody."

"Sure," I reply.

"Like I said before, Stantler are very timid Pokémon. And they're easily spooked. We generally try to encourage Trainers to take alternative routes through the forest, so they avoid the heart and leave the Stantler in peace. It's just bad luck for you two that you weren't warned. Doesn't take much to startle a Stantler; they have acute hearing and a sharp instinct. Can sense movement from a mile away. I'd say what happened was your voices carried and alarmed one or two of them."

"What was with the creepy fog?" Zeke asks, his eyebrows furrowed. "It came out of nowhere."

"It's just a safety precaution," Chip explains. "Stantler shroud themselves in a special fog they create themselves, to avoid being detected by potential enemies or threats. It's usually a good way of telling when there's one nearby."

"How do they do that?" I ask, mystified.

Chip shrugs. "It's as mysterious as their ability to manifest mirages. Scientists believe it has something to do with their antlers. They paralyse their foe with images created by their own imagination, then flee to avoid being attacked."

I shudder, remembering the Spinarak. They were so horribly realistic. I have a sudden thought, and turn to Zeke. "What did _you_ see?"

He looks at me warily. "What?"

"In the forest. What did the Stantler make you see?"

He fidgets suddenly in his seat, red blush creeping down his neck. "Nothing important."

Uh-huh. More obvious a lie has never been told. Detective Grace is instantly curious. "Spit it out."

"Seriously, it was nothing."

I pout. "Aww, c'mon, Zekey. I told you mine."

"Just leave it, Grace."

"What've you got to be ashamed of?"

"Nothing. Just drop it."

"I'll never tell anybody. Pinky promise."

"Grace!" he snaps sharply, and the tease dies on my lips. "Just stop."

"Okay," I say, and roll my eyes, hands held up in surrender. "Sorry. Jeepers."

"And stop saying that!" He gets up abruptly from the table, doesn't look at me, and stomps out of the cabin. There's a long, awkward sort of silence. Noctowl hoots once, low and soft.

I look at Chip with a forced smile. "Sorry about that. He's like that sometimes. Want me to help with the washing up?"

X3

I'm not really sure what to do with myself once the dishes are done. Zeke still hasn't returned from his tantrum stroll, and without him around to help make decisions, it's not like I can go anywhere or do anything drastic.

I lounge on the sofa for a while, contemplating Zeke's strange blow up. I've rarely seen him lose his temper like that, and it was only ever at his mother. We squabbled a lot – most of our relations were conducted through sniping and bantering – but never actually fought. Mind you, that was probably only because I never really talked to him often or extensively enough to get on his nerves.

We've never spent three days with only each other for company, either.

I can appreciate he might be a little sick of me.

"You awake?"

I glance over the back of the sofa. "Yep."

"Here," Chip says, and places a little round pot on the coffee table. "Natural ointment with Aloe Vera extract. It soothes burns and abrasions."

I pick up the pot and read the label. "Red Petal. Can you buy this somewhere?"

"Most Marts would stock it," Chip replies. "But it's quite expensive."

_Expensive_. It's not a word I've ever really had to worry about. Nor understand. I shrug, screw the cap off and take an appreciative whiff. "Mmm."

"Help yourself," Chip says, waving one hand easily. "Now, I'm going to head out with Noctowl for a bit. We need to do a round. Can I trust you to hold the fort?"

I grin and salute awkwardly where I lie. "Sir, yes sir."

The silence is heavy but comforting when he's gone; I revel in it for a moment, massaging ointment gently into the damaged skin on my cheek. It feels unbelievably nice. I rub it into my hand as well, then snuggle down on the sofa and am quickly overcome with a serious case of drowsiness.

Defenceless and powerless, I don't even attempt to resist, and let myself be carried off in a pleasant afternoon snooze.

When I wake, it's night. Or thereabouts. The air is much cooler in the cabin, and the light filtering through the gap in the curtains is dying. The clock on the wall says it's seven twenty-four.

After assessing the emptiness of the place, I lie there for a moment, wondering what's happened to Zeke, and become increasingly aware of a faint, rhythmic banging sort of sound outside.

I recognise it instantly, and marvel in this sad phenomenon before rolling off the couch and stumbling out onto the veranda.

Zeke's around the side of the cabin, nailing tent pegs into the grass.

"What are you doing?" I call.

He doesn't reply; just moves on to the next corner.

"Zeke?"

"What does it look like, Spacey?"

"It looks like you're putting up the tent," I reply. If he wants to ask wise-ass questions, he'll get wise-ass answers.

"Well aren't you a clever little girl?"

Oh, so patronising. "I thought so. Where's Chip?"

"Telling off some kids for camping in a permit-only zone."

"Does he know you're pitching a tent in his garden?" I ask.

"Does he know you're squatting on his sofa?" Zeke retorts.

"Why yes, he does."

"Well, there you go."

"So, we're staying here tonight?" I guess, ignoring his attempts at provoking me with rather admirable composure, if I may say so myself. It's pretty clear Chip's invited us to crash the night, which is unnecessarily charitable of him. I think I'll make him breakfast in the morning.

"_You_ might be," Zeke replies, sounding as snotty as he did before lunch. "But there is no way in hell anybody's going to convince me to sleep in that filthy rat house."

"Excuse me?" I demand, shocked. "The cabin is fine."

"Whatever."

"So you're saying you'd rather sleep in a tent under trees filled with wild Pokémon, in the wind and rain, all cramped up in that tiny little sleeping bag, than in a perfectly sturdy house with a bed, a shower, and insulation?"

He says nothing.

"Seriously?" I say in disbelief.

"Shove off, Grace," Zeke finally snaps. "I'll do what I want."

"Fine," I say, backing away from the railing. "I get it. See you at breakfast."'

I hear him stifle a curse as he hammers something I'm pretty sure he wasn't intending to, but I don't turn around to see if he's okay. I've got way too much pride to simper over somebody who doesn't appreciate my presence. And Zeke clearly wants some quality alone time.

So if he's gone and crushed his thumb, he can kiss it better himself. Stubborn jerk.

Chip and Noctowl return shortly. I'm flipping through an interesting book on natural Pokémon habitats I found on the shelf, and look up when they traipse in.

"Hi."

"Evening," Chip greets. "Or should I say 'morning'?" He winks at me and goes about removing his boots.

I grin. "I was pretty tired."

He chuckles. "I'll bet."

"Hey, thanks for letting us sleep here tonight," I say, with genuine gratitude. I'm only just realising now how much I'm looking forward to not sleeping in a tent tonight.

Chip waves a broad, brown hand. "Not a worry. It's nice to have some company for once. Oh, that reminds me, you'd better come have a look at the shower so I can show you how to work the hot water. We use a rain tank, so it's a bit of a different system."

The shower I take that night is the most relieving experience I've ever had. The hot water and steam sting my burns, but in a tolerable way. I find a half-empty bottle of apple-scented shampoo in the cupboard and massage it into my hair, adoring the sweet scent as it washes down the drain. When I'm done, I wrap myself in the fluffy towel Chip gave me, and step out of the shower, feeling clean, refreshed and relaxed.

I swipe at the mirror over the faucet, clearing a visible patch in the fog, and step up to examine my face for the first time.

Oh, ouch. Zeke wasn't kidding. That's a really nasty-looking burn. My cheek is red and raw, kind of shiny where it's trying to heal. The skin is a little bit puckered at the edges.

God, I hope that doesn't scar. If it does, it'll scar something shocking.

I poke at it, wince sharply, and frown sadly at my disfigured face.

Oh, get over it, Grace. It really could be worse. Think about it – El Scorchio was aiming for your _whole head. _

I really got away almost scot-free, in comparison to what could have been.

With a sigh, I apply more ointment, dry myself thoroughly, and yank on some pyjamas. The material is soft and comfy against my freshly-scrubbed skin. I feel like hugging myself. Instead, I hang up my towel and traipse quietly out to the lounge room, but there's no need to tip-toe; Chip's door is firmly closed and Noctowl is nowhere to be seen.

I curl up eagerly on the sofa, tucking myself amongst the pillows and blankets Chip left out for me, and summon sleep with my mind, feeling only one tiny stab of guilt for Zeke outside in the tent before I drift again to the land of nod.

X3

Next morning, I'm awake when the first rays of dawn pour through the window and kiss my face. I peer between the curtains at the forest in the first light of day. It's quiet and peaceful, entirely undisturbed. I can't even spot any wild Pokémon.

Another stab of guilt when I glance at the still, silent tent.

I turn away from the window and tip-toe around the kitchen, scrounging in the fridge for butter and milk, and searching in the cupboards for plates and cups.

Now, what would be a suitable breakfast for a man who traipses around all day in the forest?

Eggs.

Eggs are the perfect forest-man food.

There's a small carton on a shelf in the fridge, and I crack two in a pan, setting it on the stove while I hunt out a toaster. The eggs crackle away while I grab two pieces of bread from yesterday's loaf and pop them in. The cabin is soon warm with the smells of breakfast, and it doesn't take long for Chip's door to creak open.

He peers out in surprise.

"Morning," I say brightly. "Want some breakfast?"

Oh, god, I sound like a cheesy little housewife. I tone down the smile.

"You didn't have to get up and cook," Chip says, but I can tell he's pleased. I wonder how long it's been since someone cooked for him. I doubt Noctowl pitches in very often.

Oh, I'm so witty.

"I'm always up early," I reply, shrugging. "And, really, I wanted to. It's the least I can do."

"Well, it smells brilliant."

The toast pops and I scrape on some butter, slap the eggs on top, and deliver them to Chip, who's sitting at the table like an excitable child, knife and fork at the ready.

I laugh. "There you are, good sir."

I've just popped some toast in for myself when the door opens and Zeke pokes his head in, looking extremely uncomfortable and very sheepish. He glances around awkwardly.

At first, Chip's too busy devouring to notice, so I savour the chance to stare witheringly at Zeke and intensify his discomfort. He's just like a rebellious teenager who leaves home raving about independence and freedom, then turns and crawls back to mommy the moment there's a rough patch.

Coward.

Unable to look at me, Zeke sidles inside and quietly shuts the door. Chip looks up from his breakfast and heartily booms, "Morning. Want some eggs?"

Eggs my ass. Don't go offering my services to the whole world now, Chip. This was a one-time deal. If he wants eggs, he can cook them himself.

Zeke seems to have guessed, if not read, my thoughts. Or at least my expression. "No, thanks."

"Toast?" I offer, thawing a little. I've made my point. Plus, he did share his breakfast with me after the Rattata consumed all of mine. I should probably return the favour.

Zeke glances at me. "Yeah, sure."

I butter mine and pop some in for him, then join Chip at the table, dropping the matter. For now.

X3

I discover I'm not very good at goodbyes. I suppose it's because I've never had anyone to say goodbye _to. _I didn't have close friends in middle school, and no-one cares about leaving elementary, so I guess I just skipped the whole emotional-parting-with-chapters-of-my-life thing.

So I find it difficult having to part with Chip, even though I've only known him for all of twenty-four hours.

"Chin up," he says, grinning at my crestfallen expression. "You can visit me anytime you like. I'm not going anywhere."

Zeke, humiliated by my display of disturbing emotion, stands to the side with his pack on his shoulders. "Thanks for everything."

Chip nods at him. "Most welcome. Now, from here, you take this path north-west, straight through the trees. If you don't detour, and don't stop too many times, you should clear the forest by nightfall."

I grin at the thought. "Here's hoping."

Chip grins back. "Maybe one day you'll come to love this forest as much as me."

"I doubt I'll live to see it," Zeke comments.

I can't help but laugh at that. "Thanks, Chip. We owe you one."

"Go on," Chip says, shoving me a little too roughly towards the trees. I stumble over my feet and smack into Zeke, who pushes me off with a scowl.

"Bye!" I call over my shoulder, following Zeke back into those godforsaken woods. Chip waves until I can't see him anymore, then we're alone with the trees again.

There's a long silence for a bit, before Zeke says, finally, "If you see a Stantler, tell me."

"Why?" I ask curiously, with a wary frown. I have a sneaking suspicion I already know, and if I'm right, I'm probably going to wish he hadn't told me.

"So I can kill it."

Yeah. I thought he might say something like that.

X3

Chip estimated we'd clear the woods by nightfall, but considering it's _us_, we generously leave ourselves a little room for breaks and/or potential mishaps.

There are none of the latter, thankfully. But it still takes us longer than we'd hoped to clear the dense forest; we spend another night among the spooky trees, thankfully meeting the forest border the following morning.

For the next day the landscape is flat and green. The path we follow winds through rolling hills and rocky ridges, the occasional spattering of sparse forest the only change in scenery. We bypass several small villages, their rooftops just visible in the distance, and make good progress; by nightfall we've arrived in a pretty seaside city, where we last-minute check in to the fanciest hotel Zeke can find. I order as many items off the room-service menu as my stomach can handle, then crash in the sprawling queen-sized plush bed.

Zeke practically has to drag me out from under the covers the next morning.

The next leg of our journey gets off to a grouchy start. I'm not happy to be leaving civilisation behind, especially one with beach access. It's summer, after all, and usually I'd have spent the last week sunbathing by the rooftop pool. I lament my lack of golden tan as I drag my feet behind Zeke, who marches on unsympathetically.

We meet no-one as we follow the road to Ecruteak, which gets boring after a while. With only Zeke for company, conversation dies after a few short-lived bursts of life, and we're silent for most of the trip. The sounds of nature become familiar during these times; I come to recognise the difference between the cries of Pidgey and Spearow, and the tell-tale sounds of wild Pokémon in the bushes.

For a long time, we come across no signs of civilisation, until finally we reach a tiny, nameless village, in which we pit stop for lunch. Boninaville, a city we discover famed for its style and glamour, isn't much farther on, and we check in to a luxurious suite in a five star complex not far from the city centre. Happy to be spending the night in another queen bed, I content myself with curling up among the pillows and channel surfing the unnecessarily large TV against the wall.

We finally hit the ridge overlooking sprawling, old-fashioned Ecruteak City as the sun breaks out from behind the clouds the next day, after a pleasant early morning rise and several hours' walking.

I'm in a delightfully good mood. Zeke, however, is pretty much a certified zombie.

"Look how beautiful it is!" I exclaim, beaming.

"Fabulous," he replies, uninterested. He stretches his arms over his head and something in his neck cracks unpleasantly.

I glance at him in alarm. "I think you might have just broken something."

"I need coffee," he complains. There are huge bags under his eyes. "Let's just get into town, so I can find somewhere that makes a legitimate espresso."

Ecruteak City is a mighty old town, and I fall in love with its imperial architecture pretty much straight away. The roads are too narrow for anything larger than a Bicycle to utilise, so everybody – like us – traverses about on foot.

Unfortunately, it's also mighty large, and after half an hour of aimless wandering, we're both short-tempered and hungry.

"We need a better plan," I declare, my pack straps cutting into my shoulders. "I'm sick of walking."

"Join the club," Zeke snaps. "But there's nothing we can do about it."

"What are we even looking for?" I ask, longing to drop my pack in the dirt and relieve my aching back. "A hotel? That'd suit me fine."

"There," Zeke says, suddenly – ignoring me completely – and starts walking again. "That'll just have to do."

I have no idea what he's talking about until he steps inside a corner store just up the road. It turns out to be a quaint patisserie overlooking one of Ecruteak's squares, which I come to learn are pretty renowned in the city. This particular one features a granite fountain, the focal point of which is a majestic bird Pokémon I've never seen before, its graceful neck arched, its feathered wings raised in a sweeping gesture of elegance. Crystal water bubbles from the tip of its beak, glittering in the morning sun.

Zeke orders his coffee, I grab myself a chocolate croissant, and we make ourselves comfortable on a bench by the fountain. His coffee in one firm-gripped hand, Zeke reaches for Rex's Pokéball with the other, and in a few brightly-lit seconds he's splashing around joyously in the water behind us.

Zeke sips his coffee and gives me a pointed look.

I pretend not to notice.

He clears his throat.

I roll my eyes. "Okay, fine! I get it."

Grumbling to myself, I pull my sleeves down over my hands and – wincing pre-emptively – reach in to flick El Scorchio's Pokéball from the box.

He stretches his sludgy red neck, turns his head to bestow upon me a disapproving look, and slithers off in the opposite direction.

I sigh. "What was the point of this?"

"He needs fresh air, too," Zeke replies. "And a stretch."

"He's trying to run away again," I point out, nodding to where El Scorchio's steadily moving towards one of the four streets leading away from the square.

"At least he won't get very far."

"I suppose that's one upside." I roll my eyes sarcastically. "Hey, El Scorchio!"

A few people glance around at my call, their expressions one of two: curiosity or amusement. The latter embarrasses me; my cheeks flush. I pretend not to see them all staring, laughing incredulously at my Pokémon's ridiculous nickname.

El Scorchio ignores me.

"I've got some food!" I call again. My attempt at enticing him fails, so I'm forced to get up and follow him before everyone starts laughing at me – the girl who can't make her Pokémon listen.

Humiliating.

"Hey, come back here!" I hiss, catching him up in all of five seconds.

"Ma," he says shortly. His gloopy skin pops away quietly in the background. I slow my pace to match his, struggling to keep my strides so short I almost trip over my feet.

"Aren't you hungry?" I ask. We fed the Pokémon at the hotel; gave them a good breakfast before we left. But El Scorchio hadn't shown any interest in food – human or Pokémon. Right now, I have no idea what to do with him; I'm exasperated.

"Ma." I'm going to assume that means _no. _

"Where are you going?" I ask casually.

El Scorchio turns those big, derisive yellow eyes and they bore into mine. "Maaa."

I pretend we're having a legitimate conversation. "This is a pretty big city, y'know. You could get lost."

"Slug." I have a feeling he thinks 'lost'is still a step up from 'with Grace'_._

"I doubt you'll get far on an empty stomach," I warn.

"Maa. Slug-ma. Slug."

I think that might be the most he's ever said to me. And I think it might have been a lecture.

Zeke's laughing behind me; I can hear him.

"I don't know why you're starving yourself," I say to El Scorchio, "But it's not very intelligent. You'll make yourself sick if you're not careful. Even if you wanted to run off, or battle, or – I don't know; burn down a house? – you'd be too weak to."

"Ma." I don't think he really cares.

I throw my hands up in the air. "I give up. You're impossible."

"Ma." For the first time, he looks at me with what I suspect might be satisfaction.

Twisted creature.

I march back to his now-cooled Pokéball and Return him, turning to complain to Zeke. But before I even get the chance to speak, Rex surfaces unexpectedly and blasts me in the face. I gasp in shock, suddenly freezing despite the warm morning breeze.

"Rex!" Zeke chastises, but he's roaring with laughter, and Rex knows he's not really in trouble. Seething, I peel my sopping jacket off and flick my straggly hair out of my eyes, aiming a furious, loathing glare at Zeke's pest and biting my tongue to keep the stream of profanities at bay.

Instead, I shoulder my too-heavy pack, swallowing my groan. God, it's painful. How do other kids do this every day of the year – and of their own volition? Crazy people.

Zeke catches on quickly; he downs the rest of his coffee and gets up. To my immense irritation, Rex is left out of his Pokéball and waddles along at Zeke's feet as we set off, his big, trouble-maker eyes looking around at everything with vast interest.

"Where are we going?" I grumble.

"We should probably find a hotel," Zeke replies lightly, as though I haven't been longing to do just the thing for the past hour. I shoot him a sidelong scowl.

We experience our first stroke of good fortune for the day when we find ourselves some accommodation relatively quickly. The place crouches next to the road, not far from one of Ecruteak's squares, and is designed to imitate one of the traditional Japanese inns. We trudge along the polished floorboards of the veranda – built from bleached wood, like the rest of the place – and through a sliding door into a neat, sparsely decorated foyer.

A pretty girl in a purple yukata greets us from behind the desk. Her smile is as pleasant as the gentle music playing softly in the background. Zeke dumps his pack unceremoniously and mosies on over, ignoring the fact that Rex has discovered a pull in the welcome rug, and is yanking at it excitedly with his fangs. With a sigh, I let my pack slip from my shoulders.

The receptionist – named Kyoko, incidentally – sets us up in separate rooms for the night, and bestows upon Zeke our keys and another pretty smile. His answering one is smooth, and I wrinkle my nose. Gross.

Snatching my key, I grab a fistful of pack and haul it out of the room, leaving them to it. Seriously, Zeke preparing to charm the pants (or, rather, skirt… thing. Chortle) off a girl is just something I don't ever want to see in my lifetime. I'm sure it would be a terrifically scarring experience.

My room is a small square, with a traditional floor of tatami mats, a futon, and a small coffee table with a miniature plant in a pot. A tiny veranda is accessible through another sliding door off the far wall, and I slide it open to step outside. The view overlooks a carefully-maintained Japanese garden, and over the fence to the bustling square beyond.

With my notoriously short attention span, it doesn't take me long to get over the view. I retreat inside, snoop around for the bathrooms, and scrounge in my pack until I unearth my toilet-bag. Someone very kindly snuck in while I was outside and left a folded towel on a stool in the corner. I press my face gratefully into its fresh, fluffy folds, and head off for a shower.

Refreshed and notably revitalised, I throw a few things – my cell, Slugma's Pokéball box, a handy pack of tissues – into a smaller bag, and head back out to the foyer for some exploring time. We made it all the way to Ecruteak City; may as well actually check it out before we hit the road again.

Zeke's still lounging against the desk, but Kyoko looks around when I enter, distracting him from whatever he's saying. He looks back at me with a warning frown, like I'm trying to deliberately sabotage whatever chance he hilariously thinks he has with Geisha Girl. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"Where are _you _going?" he demands.

"Out," I reply with a shrug. "Exploring."

Zeke doesn't seem to understand this concept. "We just got here."

I shrug again. "I'm bored."

"Would you like a guidebook?" Kyoko offers graciously, gesturing to a neat stack on the edge of the desk. "They're very useful."

Well, at least she's nice enough. "Thanks."

I take one, flipping to the contents page as I head for the door, carefully side-stepping Rex, who has managed to get a solid grip on the thread and is pulling it loose, leaving a long trail of unravelled carpet in his wake. "See you later."

"Don't do anything recklessly stupid," Zeke calls after me, which is an entirely unnecessary thing to say, as I'm about the most conservatively _un-reckless _person on the planet, and he's more than aware of it. In fact, he used to tease me about my "depressing" hermit-like nature on a more-than-regular basis.

Did he honestly think my personality had drastically changed in the week since we'd left?

Moron.

I head out into the sun, examining the guidebook. It's pretty thick for its size, and chunky; all that rich history has resulted in a Must-See list that could probably double as a legitimate weapon. Pretty sure I could knock someone out with this thing, if I threw it hard enough.

Hmm. What to do first?

The town boasts a Theatre of traditional dance, a Gym, and a good lot of historical monuments. Like Burned Tower and Bell Tower.

Well, I personally vote _not _the Gym. All those in favour?

After consulting a painfully small map of the city, and taking a shamefully long time to locate the position of our inn, I pinpoint Bell Tower on the map and, trusting my horrible sense of direction, set off in a vaguely north-easterly direction.

I've picked a nice day for sightseeing; the sun is pleasant on my face as I stroll the city's narrow streets. There are lots of folk out and about with their Pokémon – the air is thick with merry voices and inhuman cries.

I pass through another square that seems to be the main one; it's flanked with a bank, a pharmacy, and a big, glassy building announcing itself as the 'Pokémon Centre' (I can't ignore the snobby little voice in the back of my mind that compares it to the one in Goldenrod City, which concludes the latter is decidedly more impressive), outside which loiter a large number of young-looking people that seem to be spectating something loud and exciting. My interest piquing, I wander over and join the crowd, bobbing up on my tip-toes to spy through a gap between two heads at what's happening.

Two boys are facing off, their mirrored expressions fiercely determined. Between them, panting, growling, snarling and/or hissing, and generally appearing mightily exhausted, are two bristling Pokémon. One I recognise as the pink Ground-type Pokémon, Nidoran . The other I've never seen before; purple and monkey-like, with a long, waving tail with a hand-shaped tip.

"Nidoran !" one of the boys yells. "Tackle attack!"

The little pink Pokémon raises its horned head, growls threateningly at the monkey-thing, and promptly prepares to throw itself at it.

"Aipom!" the other boy counters. "Dodge and use Fury Swipes!"

As the Nidoran launches itself, the monkey Pokémon – which I now know is an Aipom (thank you, nameless Trainer) – springs deftly aside with obvious delight, whirling back around on its foe to claw ferociously at its tough-looking hide. Nidoran whimpers in pain, its little face contorted.

Oh, it's awful.

I can barely stand to watch the poor things ripping at each other, and I'm mildly appalled that everyone else is standing around cheering. Aren't they concerned that the pain of these Pokémon is a form of entertainment?

I shudder, unable to tear my eyes away as the Aipom's trainer calls, "Now! Finish it off with–"

"That's enough!"

The proceedings screech to an untimely halt. I'm seized by relief, turning with the confused crowd to look upon the newcomer, a tall, smartly-dressed woman in a blue uniform and hat, her approachable copper eyes stern; reproaching.

Well, hi there, Officer Jenny. I salute your impeccable timing.

"Just what do you think you're doing, holding a battle right outside the Pokémon Centre?" Jenny demands, hands on hips, red lips taut. "Don't you know how dangerous that is? You're blocking the entrance. I'm afraid you'll have to conduct your battle in a more open space. Go on! Move it!"

Looking sheepish, the two Trainers hustle their battered Pokémon away, which – to me – seems like an entirely idiotic idea, when one, if not both, of them looks like it needs some serious medical attention, and more than a little TLC.

"Honestly," Jenny huffs to herself, as the crowd, mumbling disappointedly, disperses. With a quick sweeping glance of the square for any other signs of troublemaking, she clambers aboard her scooter and zooms away to perform her reliable law-enforcing duties elsewhere.

I stare up at the Pokémon Centre. Through the clean glass windows I see lots of Trainers milling around inside; there's a queue at the desk, behind which a flustered-looking Joy is examining a wounded Hoothoot on the counter, its Trainer looking anguished. The whole thing just reeks of _wrongness_.

I frown to myself, vowing on the spot to never let my Pokémon end up in a Pokémon Centre because of a battle, and turn away.

X3

Bell Tower is an impressive structure of majestic, Meiji-period architecture, rising above the roofs of the rest of the city like a beacon. It casts a long shadow, and I wince when I tilt my head back to look up at it, shielding my eyes from the sun.

I took the long way and got lost three times, but I got here in the end, and that's all that matters.

It's kind of funny, though; I sort of expected the tower to be taller. I mean, sure, it's pretty tall, but it's old and sort of falling apart. And the roof is half caved-in. Surely that can't be right.

I consult the guide book again, shrug to myself, and begin climbing the steps to the tower's entrance. There's no-one else around, and I collapse on the top step – when, at last, I actually make it up there – to catch my breath, rewarded with a picturesque panoramic view overlooking the entire city from the eastern side.

I thank my short attention-span for cutting my breather short, clamber to my feet once more, and seek out the entrance to the tower. Up close, the structure looks weathered and worn with age; there are planks missing all over the place, and the natural elements have completely erased the name of the tower from the wooden plaque.

I put this down to it being heritage listed, and, being the stupid girl I am, head on inside anyway. In hindsight, I really don't know why the alarm bells didn't go off sooner. Later, I will wonder whether I knew all along that I'd gone to the wrong tower, even when I first looked up at it.

Unfortunately, the knowledge will be useless later; it's now that I really could use it. And it's now that –lucky me – I don't have it. Until, of course, it's far too late.

I catch on the moment I step inside.

If I was concerned about the tower's outward shabbiness, it was nothing to the downright decrepit interior. The whole thing was thoroughly burned out, the walls blackened to ash from a fire sometime long ago, judging by the musty particles drifting lazily in the air. There are perilous-looking gaps in the floor, the darkness beneath so far from uninviting it's not even funny. Majestic pillars once held the place up, but several of them have fallen and broken into pieces.

The place is largely inhabited by ashes, dirt, dust, debris, and junk.

In spite of this, I venture in timidly, peering around in the dimness curiously, wondering what happened here, trying to imagine the tower in its former glory. It's hard to picture, but I think I can get the general gist. It would have been beautiful.

I'm about to wisely turn back when the sun happens to burst out from behind a cloud, and the way it filters down between the cracks in the crumbling wall momentarily takes my breath away. There's just something so stunning about it. Without even thinking, I reach into my bag for my disposable camera, and start snapping away, marvelling in my good fortune.

Of course, I get swept up in what I'm doing, and don't pay attention to what _else _I'm doing, which – incidentally – is moving further towards the far wall without paying close attention to the floor. It's altogether an incredibly dumb move on my part, but I don't realise the consequences of my actions until the ground gives a frightening creak where I'm standing, and with a sharp snap that raises every hair on the exterior of my skin, shifts beneath my feet.

I don't even have time to gasp before the decayed floorboards give way under my weight, and, my stomach lurching into my throat and my mind buzzing with terror, I'm swallowed up by the darkness.

I free-fall for what feels like forever, but really is probably all of two seconds, landing with a nasty crunch on something that is the total opposite of soft. Pain lances through my left hip and all the way down through my leg to simmer angrily in my ankle. The darkness is encompassing; I can't see a thing. And I've been separated from my bag somehow.

Just perfect.

I sit there in the dark for a while, whimpering in fear and pain, too terrified to move until my eyes adjust. Fear of the unknown is consuming – who knows what mutant, carnivorous Pokémon are crouching just beyond the shadows, watching me with predatory glints in their untameable eyes? What if there's some crackpot loony who lives like a wild creature, lurking somewhere out there, his mind so volatile from seclusion that he'll turn and gut me on the spot?

This thought strikes sharply at the part of the brain that regulates rationality, and for a while, I just lose it completely. Mind you, I'm silent beyond belief, having convinced myself that, if such a madman does, in fact, exist, the fact that he's yet to leap out and stab me indicates my going undetected, and I work to keep it that way with remarkable meticulousness.

After a while, though, I come to the inevitable conclusion that the madman is actually just a figment of my imagination, and after that I calm down.

I struggle to crawl to my knees – I've been sitting in the same rigid, utterly still position for the last god knows how long I've been down here, and am subsequently suffering a serious case of pins and needles – trying to ignore the awful pain that seems to be attempting to maim my left leg. Seriously, I think something tried to yank the bone out of its socket; the result is a lot of awkwardness associated with attempted movement.

Think, Grace. You've got to get out of here.

The first thing I try is summoning enough courage to actually believe the madman is non-existent, and call out for help. My voice echoes away, bouncing back to me mournfully, but there's no reply. I give up for the moment, focusing my efforts instead on finding my bag so I can call Zeke.

I shuffle around in the rough dirt for what feels like hours – and this time might actually be – without finding anything, my frustration building until I finally crack it big time, sitting back and shrieking angrily into the darkness, brushing grit from my left palm, the one that isn't wrapped in gauze. The skin is stinging; I wince as I gently massage it.

By now it must be night. There's no way of telling down here, but my stomach is grumbling something shocking, and the air is getting chillier. Presently, I shiver. Alarm pounds sickeningly in my heart at the prospect of being stuck out here all night.

I try shouting again for a while. Then I continue the search for my bag.

I have no luck until – joy! – my chafed fingers brush against something light and wooden, that rattles. I grasp my find enthusiastically, my heart giving an almighty leap in my chest when I realise what it is.

With an explosion of light that is so suddenly bright and painful that my eyes water violently, there comes a quiet, unimpressed, "Ma?"

"El Scorchio!" I'm so relieved I can't manage much more than a weak bleat. I've yet to be so happy to have my fingers blistered; reaching into that box was heavenly painful.

"Ma."

In the darkness, I can just make him out; his goopy skin gives off the very faintest, dull red glow, like lava simmering in the night. Barely perceptive, but I can see his shadowy form faintly in the black.

And he's moving away from me.

Of course.

"No, no!" I whimper. "Please, not this time. I really need some company, El Scorchio."

"Slug." He continues his steady crawl. Alarmingly, I can already barely work out where he's gone.

"Wait!" I call desperately; by now my poor voice, worn from yelling at the top of my lungs, is hoarse and breaks embarrassingly. "I'm stuck in this tower thing, and I don't know how to get out, and I've been down here for ages. I keep calling out, but no-one can hear me, and you're the only other _life form _I've seen in _hours_. Please don't leave me."

"Maa."

His voice is getting fainter.

I feel a little foolish for pouring out all my troubles so pathetically. He's sure to respect you now, Grace.

I consider trying to follow him, but with my stupid bung leg, I doubt I'd actually be able to catch him this time. I draw my arms around myself, trying to summon a little more courage to fight off how scared and lonely I am, but my resolution is starting to break.

I can hear El Scorchio's body sliding over stones and dirt, but they're very quiet noises, and the absolution of my solitude in a moment of such desperate hope just crushes my spirits. I sit there and cry until I'm too tired to anymore. Then I curl up awkwardly, exhaustion pounding behind my eyes, hunger gnawing at my stomach, and allow my traumatised little brain to succumb to sleep.


	7. The Sixth Chapter!

**~ Six ~**

**On Ghastly Companions and Heated Exchanges**

* * *

I jolt awake.

Around me, it's all pitch black, and very cold, for a summer evening. Too cold, actually. Way too cold. I push up from the dirt, eyes foggy with sleep but senses alert, my skin tight with gooseflesh. My instincts are wired; my breath – coming in short, shallow gasps – steams lightly before my face.

Wait, what? _Steams_?

I marvel in this abnormal phenomenon, sitting up straighter and brushing the hair from my face. It's clearly still night; there's a heavy, velvet silence to the evening that speaks of the hours before dawn, but there's an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach; I'm edgy and nervous – enough to rouse me from sleep.

Air whispers by my right ear, gently, like a caress. It's freezing cold; I shiver.

From above, closer than I expected but still too far away, comes a mournful, bleak caw. Just one, but it sends chills down my spine. Something is really not right, and I'm spooked beyond belief.

I wish I'd never come to this stupid tower.

The same, cold breath breezes along my neck. I shiver again. And then I sense movement. I don't know how, because I can't see any other shapes in the dimness, but I do. I wiggle my fingers in front of my eyes to be sure my sight is functioning.

No. I'm definitely the only life form here.

Well, apart from El Scorchio.

_El Scorchio_!

Oh. Right. Wherever the heck _he_ went.

It comes again, that strange, uncomfortable sense that something is moving nearby. It sets my teeth on edge and gets my blood pumping. My throat is so dry it's painful – I kick myself mentally for not packing some water when I left.

And then my thoughts are cut off abruptly, because my hair moves. At first, it's just like a gentle breeze has caught a few tendrils – which, in itself, is odd enough in a place where the air is totally stagnant – but it escalates until it's floating around my head like I'm underwater, and I somehow manage a gurgled rasping scream from my dying voice box.

_Ghosts!_, my brain shrieks in wild, irrational terror. The place is full of ghosts, and they're going to eat me. This awful tower is haunted, and now I'm trapped and I'm going to have made it a week from home only to perish as finger food for a bunch of cannibalistic, centuries-dead monks, or something. Not my ideal way of going, but it's not like I really have much choice.

I fling my hands about my head, still shrieking like I've lost my marbles, cold, pure fear running my blood cold. A fresh wave of tears I'm surprised to produce spills down my cool cheeks and across my chapped lips. They smart instantly.

I fumble awkwardly to my feet and stagger on legs stiff from rest and sore from injury – in any direction that is _away. _I trip and sprawl, pushing myself back up somehow, where I stand, trembling fiercely and brushing invisible cobwebs from my arms, for god knows how long.

How do you run from a ghost? Is it even humanely possible? Even as I wonder, I'm hopelessly resigned to the fact that I _am_ going to die here. There's no way out, and even if there was, I wouldn't make it before whatever it is that's down here with me got its nasty claws around me and ate my brains.

Oh, pull yourself together Grace. You're still alive and breathing.

Yeah, but for how much longer?

Shut up.

"El..." I whimper, my lips trembling so violently I struggle to get it out. "El Sc-Scorchio!"

"Ma?"

I jump aggressively; he's right beside me. Gah. Creepy.

"H-holy M-Miltank! You sc-scared the p-pants off me!"

"Ma." He doesn't sound particularly perturbed. A large part of me is overjoyed that he somehow deemed it important enough to return to my side. Good little Slugma.

Wait. Can you say that to a Pokémon? It seems a little condescending.

I'm considering this when the icy breath returns, whispering along my cheek and startling me afresh. God, my poor nerves are being royally frayed tonight. My heart drums steadily in my chest, echoing the throbbing fear in my mind.

"Wh-who are you?" I try bravely, but my courage falters and my voice breaks, falling away mid-sentence. I end up sounding terrifically frightened.

Wah! There it is again; that sense of movement. Cold, inhuman; the uncomfortable sense of invisible existence.

"Ma," El Scorchio says, sounding wary.

I wonder if he's actually trying to talk to me, or if he's just making a fool of me. Somehow, even in a dire situation like this, I'm inclined to think the latter, based on previous experience.

"A-are there g-ghosts here?"

"Slug."

Wait, does that mean 'yes' or 'no'? It's kind of imperative!

Something brushes against my arm, tracing a light line down my skin. The hairs prickle, as though responding to something static.

God, I wish I had a flashlight.

Or, alternatively, a stick for El Scorchio to set on fire. That would probably work, too.

"Ma!" El Scorchio's sounding mighty uneasy now, and it gets my teeth grinding. I'm trembling with fear, my thoughts jumbling together incoherently.

Then, suddenly, I'm yanked off the ground.

My stomach drops violently and I screech, vertigo rushing in my head. Oh, holy Miltank. I think I'm going to be sick. I flail, trying to free myself from the grasp of whatever the heck's got me. The bizarre thing is, I can't feel hands, or claws, or even a net. I'm just… floating. Unexplainably.

I tire and cease my screaming struggle, peering mournfully down at what I _hope _is the ground (who knows, really; I could be upside-down for all I know), and catch a thankful glimpse of dim movement. El Scorchio's okay, at least.

"Maaa!"

Wait, what the _hell_? Around his dimly simmering body dance shadowy forms darker than the night. Realisation crashes around my ears. No wonder he sounds distressed; he's being attacked!

"Leave him alone!"

It's not even a fair fight; he's totally outnumbered. Plus, they're practically part of the night, whatever they are. They have the advantage. The poor little guy's being totally dogged.

And I can't even do anything. I'm pretty damn certain now, though, that whatever's trying to hurt El Scorchio is simultaneously responsible for my being currently awkwardly suspended above the ground.

"Put me _down_!"

A whisper in my ear, "Haunt!", and I'm falling. I don't even have time to scream. But before I hit the earth, I'm jerked up again. My neck snaps. Bile rises to the back of my throat. My head reels. This time, I'm pretty sure I'm upside down. My hair's falling in front of my face.

"Stop it," I groan dizzily.

There are other voices now; El Scorchio's defensive cries mix with otherworldly moans of amusement. It's creepy as all hell.

"Haunt!" Something says into my face, and _bing!_, like a light flicking on, there's suddenly a big pair of eyes staring straight into mine – luminous as neon signs. I squeal in surprise.

It cackles, and the glow from its spooky eyes gives it the jagged outline of a body, and a wide mouth. A slimy, pinkish tongue lolls languidly from the lipless, gaping hole in its… uh… face? Body? – I can't tell which – coiling like it has a mind of its own. I wrinkle my nose reflexively.

Seriously gross.

Below, El Scorchio's distressing calls are gut-wrenching.

"Fight back!" I'm shocked to hear myself call, but honestly, what else is he expected to do in this situation? Sitting there letting his attackers pummel him is just cruel. And watching him go down without even an attempt at self-preservation is a completely, depressingly pathetic concept. "Come on! Don't let them get the better of you!"

"Ma!" he bellows back at me, probably unappreciative of my encouraging yet entirely unhelpful comments.

"I'd help you if I could, I swear," I struggle to call; it's all very difficult with the blood rushing to my head and the hair getting caught in my mouth. "But I'm – uh – kind of in a predicament."

"Haunt, Haunt!" my captor snickers. Now that he's (I've decided he's a boy) not faceless anymore, he's not quite as terrifying. Still scary – oh, hell yes; he could easily bite my face off in a second – but less so now that I can see him.

And he's a Pokémon; he has to be. What else _could _he be?

If I'm right, it means – if I'm lucky, and if I don't offend-slash-provoke him – he might not eat my face, after all.

Fingers crossed.

"Please," I beg. "Put me down."

He ignores me.

"Slug!" El Scorchio bellows, and suddenly he's yanked upward, too. I can see his dim outline struggling.

"Do something!" I call.

"Ma!"

"You're a Fire Pokémon – use a Fire-type move!"

"Ma. Slugma!"

I think he's yelling at me, but I can't be too sure.

"Can't you do an Ember, or something?"

_Vvooom!_

I almost leap out of my skin (which is awkward, because jerking is difficult when you're hanging upside down) when a brilliant burst of red-hot flame billows in a majestic glowing pillowy cloud, illuminating the darkness for a second, and washing warmth over my face. It licks the air impressively before curling in on itself and disappearing.

My eyes water, smarting from the heat and blinded by the light.

Pain smacks through the side of my head and down my neck into my shoulder, and it takes me a few confusing seconds to realise I've been dropped, for real this time. I clench my fingers thankfully in the gravelly dirt, dragging myself upright.

"El Scorchio? You okay? Where are you?" I call anxiously.

"Ma."

Funny; he didn't sound so collected a few seconds ago.

"What the heck was that?"

"Maa."

My heart's pounding something shocking, but the weird feeling is gone; the air less frigid. I lie there in the quiet, listening to El Scorchio crawling around in the dirt and waiting for my pulse to calm. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow, my body's various injuries stinging, throbbing, smarting and aching, respectively – all meshed into one gigantic ball of pain so I can't distinguish the individual hurts.

"Hey," I croak, coughing grains of dirt from my tongue. Bleargh. "Nice work."

"Ma."

With my brain having decided the immediate threat of danger is gone, every muscle in my body relaxes at once, and I'm suddenly out so fast I can't actually tell if I've fallen asleep or passed out.

X3

When I wake up (or come to – take your pick), sunlight is filtering down through the floorboards, way overhead, warm and golden.

I lie there, trying to work out which parts of me aren't damaged, so I can get them working, and simultaneously attempting to ignore the pain seizing _everywhere else._

It's hard. Oh, it's so hard.

Eventually, I manage to blink the grit out of my eyes and turn my head slowly to the side, pressing my cheek into the dirt.

El Scorchio's yellow eyes are massively disproportionate; they're so big my eyes blur them together until he's a Cyclops. He's sitting _right _next to my head, his goopy face pressed up close to mine, heat radiating slowly from his gooey skin. If I had any energy, I'd jump with fright.

"Ma," he says, seeming distinctly disappointed that I'm awake.

Or alive.

Or both.

"You're doing that creepy stare thing again."

Oh god, is that _my_ voice? I sound like a chain-smoker.

El Scorchio blinks at me.

"Stop hoping I'll die," I growl irritably. "_I'm not dying_."

"Ma," he complains, bored, and obediently slithers away from my face, visibly let down. Ungrateful little–!

He's doing _wonders_ for my self-esteem.

"Hello?" a male voice calls.

Oh, music to my ears! Relief floods through me, so powerful I could cry.

I call out, but my voice cracks, so I clear my throat and try again. "Hello?"

"Hey!" the voice calls again, and now I can hear other, distant voices. "There's someone down here!"

I struggle to sit up – oh man, my body hates me – and wait a moment for my head to stop reeling so I can look around. It appears I fell into some kind of underground cavern. There are stone tablets dotted here and there, and – ah ha ha, so embarrassing – a narrow set of stone stairs in the far corner.

Heat flushes my cheeks. I could have just walked out all along.

What a shame I didn't find those in my hours of painful scouring last night. Just my luck.

In my defence, it _was _pitch-black.

And I _was _crippled. Kind of.

"Hey!" The voice is closer now; above me. "Are you okay? What're you doing down there?"

I tilt my head back – woo, head spin; I'm going to have to watch that. No sudden movements, Grace – and squint into the sunlight. A face peers down through a jagged hole in the decrepit floorboards (probably the one I made last night when the boards broke), male, square-jawed and mature, framed with spiked blonde hair.

"I'm okay," I call back weakly. Liar face! You're not okay in the slightest, Grace Buckthorn. You can't even move! Tsk, tsk. "I fell…"

"Don't move," the stranger calls. "I'm coming to get you."

A few minutes later, I'm up on dry land.

Well, you know what I mean.

It took the stranger all of a minute to reach me, and another two to scoop me up effortlessly and carry me up the stairs and outside, where I'm greeted by a uniformed rescue team and Officer Jenny, who's delegating loudly, her scooter lights flashing importantly.

It's all very exciting – and such a huge fuss.

If I wasn't so exhausted, I'd be pretty damn humiliated right now.

Instead, I just meekly let my saviour set me on a Chansey-guided stretcher that arrives with a small ambulance, thankful to be lying on something – _anything_ – softer than the rocky earth for the first time in god knows how long. I don't listen to the conversations babbling around me; I can't be bothered. I just lie there and let the authoritative people be authoritative. There's a sharp, slow pain in my arm, and I quickly grow sleepy.

Sedative, anyone?

Finally, I'm loaded into the back of the ambulance. An alarming thought hits me sharply, and I try to sit up. A firm arm restrains me.

"Wait," I mumble, my thoughts a jumbled mess. "El Scorchio."

"What?" someone asks, confused.

"El… Scorchio," I repeat drowsily; the drugs are taking effect. "My… Slugma…"

And then it's just too hard to fight the overwhelming pressure in my head. In a matter of moments, I'm out again.

X3

I wake up in a clean, white hospital room, up to my neck in soft white blankets. The sky outside the simple window is periwinkle blue. I have absolutely no idea what time it is. My memory is foggy. I can't remember much – all I've got is Rex chewing holes in the hotel carpet.

The room is eerily quiet. I hone in on the silence, tuning in my ears for noise, and catch a faint ticking. A bedside cabinet houses a covered plastic tray, El Scorchio's Pokéball box, and a little round-faced clock. How convenient.

It's four twenty-eight. In the afternoon.

Holy Miltank. What day is it? How long have I been here?

I push myself up in bed, fully awake now, and full of questions. My muscles protest, but the pain is nowhere near as bad as it was in the tower. Thank god for that.

Oh –_ the Tower_!

And bam – there are all my memories! I missed you, darlings.

A nurse walks past my room, the clip-clopping of her shoes fading away behind the closed door.

It's another ten minutes before anything exciting happens, and it's one of the most boring ten minutes of my entire life. There is absolutely nothing remotely of entertainment value in this room. I can't even reach El Scorchio's box –whoever so very kindly returned him to me left his Pokéball _not_ so very kindly out of reach. I stretch my fingers vainly and give up.

My tummy rumbles unhappily.

The door opens, presenting to me a nurse in scrubs. She smiles upon seeing me awake. "Good afternoon. I'll bet you're feeling better."

Well, no. Not really.

Hungry? Yes. Confused? Hell yes.

Better? Not quite.

"Are you hungry?" the nurse asks. She has a pleasant smile, so I stop sassing her in my mind and focus on being pleasant in return. "You slept a long time."

"How long?"

Damn, my voice is still scratchy.

"Try to rest your voice, sweetheart. Don't talk too much. And you've just slept about eleven hours straight."

And I could totally go some more.

"I'll bring you some food," the nurse says. "We'll try to get something into you before you go back to sleep."

She leaves, and I'm left with the silence until she returns with a new tray. She sets it down beside the bed, removing the lid to reveal its steaming contents. Miso soup, steaming rice with what looks like grilled Remoraid, and a small carton of juice.

You know what? I don't even care that I don't like fish meat. Just give me the tray.

My stomach growls again in anticipation.

The nurse sits beside the bed while I hoover the meal, chatting away good-naturedly.

"I'm sure you've got lots of questions," she says. "So, I'll fill you in with what I know. This morning, a missing persons report was filed at the police station, and after attempts to contact you, a team was dispatched to look for you. It was our Leader, Morty, who found you in Burned Tower–"

I spit my mouthful of soup violently, spluttering in shock. Did she just say 'Leader'? As in _Gym Leader_?

"Are you okay?"

"Sorry – _who_ found me?"

"Morty," she repeats with a smile. "The Ecruteak City Gym Leader."

Holy Miltank. Well now I feel like a total nuisance. Not to mention a complete idiot. And surely my being stuck in the tower wasn't seriously so big a deal that the Gym Leader needed to get involved.

I blush, my stomach curling.

"Don't worry," the nurse assures me. "He was very careful with your injuries."

Oh, man. So not what I'm angsting out about right now. "D-does he normally help lost people in the tower?"

The nurse laughs. "Morty specialises in Ghost-type Pokémon; he has a strong connection with them. Apparently he was alerted to abnormal activity in the tower last night–" Which would have been when those scary ghosts were trying to eat me and El Scorchio "–but it subsided. He decided to head out first thing this morning to investigate. Luckily for you, he crossed paths with the search party."

Indeed. _Very_ lucky for me, if it means I could still be down in that stupid pit right now.

Shudder.

I distract myself by asking, "Is my Slugma okay?"

"He's perfectly fine," she assures me. "The young man who filed the missing persons report came by when we contacted him with the news that you'd been found. He took your Pokémon to the Pokémon Centre while you were sleeping, then brought it back again."

Well, that was awfully nice of Zeke – assuming that it _was _Zeke who reported me missing. Wait, what if it _wasn't_? What if he doesn't even realise I'm gone?

Then who's been watching over me?

Oh, that's awkward.

I have another question. "Did anyone find my bag in the tower? I lost it."

The nurse brightens. "Yes, actually. It's in the cabinet. Your cell phone was found, too, but…" She laughs nervously. "I'm afraid it sustained… irreparable damage."

Well, that's a shame.

"Oh well." I shrug. "I'll just get a new one."

The nurse gives me a strange look, like my nonchalance is abnormal, but says nothing. (I don't really get it; it's just a phone). Instead, she nods at my empty tray. "Are you finished?"

"Yes, thanks."

The sun is starting to set now; the blue is fading from the sky like watercolour paints washing off a canvas. There's a peachy glow brushing the clouds, kind of like they're all blushing. I smile at the simile. The nurse pulls the blinds and picks up the tray. I'm startled to find I'm already getting sleepy again.

She says something as she leaves, but I'm too busy embracing my warm drowsiness to catch it.

The room is cast into darkness with the closing of the door, and before I realise it, my muddled thoughts melt seamlessly into colourful dreams.

X3

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

I look around in surprise as the door swings open. Zeke storms in, blue eyes blazing. I frown, reflexively defensive.

"Wrong with me as in 'Why have you been hospitalised, oh beloved sister', or–"

"No, as in I'm literally asking if there's some sort of small retardation in your brain. There's no other legitimate explanation for the stupid mess you got yourself into last night."

Nice. The jerk isn't even concerned about how I'm doing. He's just angry.

"There's a perfectly legitimate explanation," I retort. "I went to the wrong tower by mistake, and the floor caved in."

"Did you ever think to just use your cell and call someone?" Zeke demands.

"Don't insult me, you stupid jerk!" I snap, misting up. "Of course I did – I couldn't find it in the dark. And anyway, the stupid thing smashed when I fell, so I couldn't have used it even if I'd had it. I also tried screaming at the top of my lungs for a few hours, in case my stupid man-voice isn't enough of a giveaway. You seriously think I just sat there all night, quietly twiddling my thumbs and waiting for someone to realise I was missing?"

Zeke crosses to the window, glaring heatedly out at the sky. After a long, tense silence, he exhales through his nose and says flatly, "I told you not to do anything reckless."

"I didn't mean to get stuck in a creepy old tower all night!" I exclaim, a few angry tears dripping down my cheeks. I hastily swipe at them. "It was an accident! And I'm okay, by the way. Thanks for asking. Even though I twisted my hip and sprained my stupid ankle when I fell, I'm fine now. Never mind that it was literally the _worst night of my life_ and I've probably sustained permanent psychological scarring."

"Stop being such a drama queen." Zeke rolls his eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "You could thank me, you know. I did hike all the way back to that stupid tower to find your stupid Slugma."

I sniffle. "So it _was _you."

"Of course it was me," Zeke scoffs. "Who else could it have been?"

"I don't know," I shoot back, fed up with his derision and general lack of concern for my well-being. "Maybe some dashing young hero, come to fill the romantic void in my life, and generally make it more pleasant." I sigh heavily, exaggeratedly dramatic. "That's a bummer."

Zeke just stares at me for a moment. Then he shakes his head, appalled. "You're so…" He makes a noise of frustration and throws his hands in the air. "I'm getting coffee."

He stalks to the door and pulls it sharply behind him. I'm left with only the silence and my own irritation for company.

X3

I sleep for most of the day, but I'm discharged late in the afternoon after a check up and the doctor's nod of approval. I'm surprised how tired I still am; my body's exhausted, and all I want is more sleep.

Well, maybe some food first. Then more sleep.

I walk back to the inn with Zeke, who's refusing to talk, but is very gallantly carrying my things for me, including my new cell phone, still in its box. He'd brought a change of clothes when I was admitted, and the bag containing my dirty things is tossed casually over his shoulder.

As it turns out, while I'd spent the night fending off hungry ghost Pokémon, crawling around in pain and screaming myself hoarse, Zeke had enjoyed a leisurely evening at the Theatre, after being invited by Kyoko, whose elder sister was one of the "chorus" Kimono Girls.

"Romantic date," I'd commented dryly, and Zeke had flushed all the way up his neck to his ears.

"It wasn't a date."

But he'd struggled and failed to conceal his smug smile.

"Sure," I'd quipped. "It was an innocent night of sushi and origami lessons. Whatever."

"Origami?" Zeke repeated, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

I'd grinned. "Well, she had to teach you how to re-tie her kimono, right? I've heard it's a real art."

That shut him up.

Zing. Point to Grace.

The sun is setting when we finally make it back to the inn. Kyoko is helping a customer at the desk, but blushes a pretty shade of pink when she sees Zeke, and glances away, fighting a small smile. He clears his throat, valiantly looking anywhere but at her, or at me, because I'm grinning like a mad woman.

We walk straight through the foyer without stopping, and I make an excuse about being tired (which, you know, actually isn't really much of an excuse, considering it's true), thankfully retreating to my room. I've just changed into my pyjamas (flannelette Skitty-print pants and one of dad's old grey 'Silph Co.' t-shirts I've always been unreasonably attached to), when there's a soft knock at the sliding door.

Kyoko enters, politely apologetic for the interruption, and sets a tray of food on the table. She shoots me a tentative smile – I read it as one of guilt, because she knows I know she's been out with my step-brother and it's making things a little awkward – and quickly exits. I use 'exited' here as loosely synonymous for 'fled'. She couldn't have bailed faster if she'd run.

Dinner is a selection of Japanese cuisine: octopus balls, oysters, sashimi, dishes of beef and chicken. I plonk myself down enthusiastically and snap apart the complimentary el cheapo wooden chopsticks, which I pretend I know how to use.

I release El Scorchio while I dine, with the hopes that maybe our traumatic ordeal in Burned Tower might have fostered some kind of bond between us, or at least lessened some of the malice he routinely bestows upon me.

Sadly, he's as disdainful as ever, and I'm forced to recall him when he scorches the tatami mats.

Whoops.

I'll have to remember to drag the futon over the mark before we leave.

Even though El Scorchio still despises me, and more of my dinner ends up on the floor than in my mouth, I have fun playing with the chopsticks, and it's nice to be sleeping somewhere that isn't either a dank cavern or a sterile hospital room, even if the futon has nothing on my plush, king-size bed back home.

The point is, I'm a very contented little girl when I finally curl up under the covers for some much-needed sleep.

X3

The next morning, I'm thoroughly confused to find the odd thumping in my dream is actually the sound of someone pounding against my door, loudly enough to rouse me from my slumber.

"Wass' goin' on?" I ask groggily, my voice thick with sleep.

Evidently, the interruptor doesn't hear; the knocking comes again, louder and more insistent this time.

I groan and clear my throat. "_What_?"

"It's six thirty," Zeke's voice says matter-of-factly.

I'm very confused by this. "And?"

"Get up," he replies. "We're leaving."

"What? Why?"

"We need to keep moving."

"No, we don't," I reply, sitting up in bed as the gravity of this sentiment hits me. "We've got loads of time."

"The longer we sit around, the longer it'll take us to get to Olivine," Zeke says simply.

"But we don't have to be there _tomorrow_."

"Luckily," he agrees smartly. "We wouldn't have made it."

"Ha-ha," I grumble sarcastically. "Go away. I'm going back to sleep, and when I wake up, I'm going to pretend this was all a bad dream."

"Get up, Grace," Zeke repeats firmly. "Pack your stuff. I'm leaving at eight, and whether you're with me or not is inconsequential."

"I love you, too," I say dryly.

"Eight o'clock," he repeats, then footsteps indicate he's walking away. I groan loudly and fall back against the pillows.

X3

"Have I ever told you how incredibly insensitive you can be?"

"Once or twice. But, by all means, tell me again."

"You can be _incredibly_ insensitive."

"So I've heard."

I groan, my brain thick with tiredness, and resist the urge to face-plant my plate of pancakes and use it as a pillow. The communal dining area is quiet, since the other guests are obviously too intelligent to see the feeble logic in waking up at seven thirty, and I slouch in my seat, leaning heavily against the wall, the only thing keeping me vertical right now.

"Keep eating," Zeke says, engrossed in one of Kyoko's guidebooks.

"Leave me alone."

"I will in ten minutes if you're not done."

"I was in hospital yesterday," I whine. "Doesn't that maybe indicate that I probably shouldn't be hiking all day in my current condition?"

"What condition?" Zeke mutters.

I flick a piece of pancake at him. "Stop being a jerk."

"Look, you rested up in the hospital, and then you rested up again last night. You'll be fine."

"What if I pass out?" I demand. "What if my bung hip collapses on me? What if–"

"What if, what if?" Zeke mimics me, rolling his eyes. "You'll. Be. Fine. Stop being melodramatic and finish your pancakes."

"Yes, daddy," I quip, sneering childishly at him.

He glares at me over the guidebook. I shrug my shoulders. "What?"

"Eat."

"What if I didn't want pancakes?"

"I swear to God, Grace. Shut up."

"No, you shut up."

He slams the guidebook closed and pushes his chair out. "I'm not sitting here playing childish games with you. Meet me in the lobby when you're done. If you're not there by eight, I'm leaving without you. End of story."

He stalks out, and I poke at the pancakes with my fork, pouting at nothing in particular. I know I'm being unreasonably immature, but there is nothing fair or reasonable in Zeke making us leave today, especially this early. We're not in any particular rush, so why can't I just have one more day to relax? If _he _was the one who'd fallen in the hole and spent the night in a spooky old tower, we'd be here for an extra week. At least.

So unfair.

Nevertheless, I scarf down the rest of my breakfast (well, I _am _hungry) and purposefully watch the clock slowly ticking down to eight. At precisely one minute past, I pull together as much pride as I've got and drag myself out reluctantly to the lobby.

Kyoko greets me with a smile.

"Where's Zeke?" I ask suspiciously.

She looks surprised. "He already left."

"He _what_?"

That stupid, selfish, insensitive–!

"He said you knew the arrangements and would catch him up," Kyoko continues.

"Oh, he did, did he?" I say, grinding my teeth together. I snatch my pack up, hauling it onto my shoulders. "Thanks for everything; you've been extremely hospitable."

"Thank you for staying with us," she says customarily, but I've stomped out before she's even halfway through the sentence.

The morning is bright and sunny in contrast to my thunderous fury. My almost-better hip complains as I storm down the street, but I ignore it. In fact, I almost lavish it; the pain exacerbates my anger, and it brews up like a coiled spring inside me, ready to explode at Zeke when I find him. My head fills with all the things I could possibly shout at him, and I relish in them savagely, making my way through Ecruteak City.

Of course, in none of my internal rage-ramblings do I actually seriously think he's left without me, or that I'm actually going to head off down Route 38 by myself.

So I'm not surprised when I hear a warning, "_Grace_!" from behind.

I don't slow down.

"Grace!" Zeke shouts again, and I can tell he's pissed. Oh man, he's _seriously _pissed. "Slow down!

"No!" I bellow petulantly, without turning around.

He catches me up quickly, grabbing my shoulder angrily. "Grace, what the hell?"

"_You _what the hell!" I snap, seething up at him. His eyes are a blaze of ice blue. "I can't believe you _actually left without me_."

"You weren't there at eight!"

"I was _one minute late_!"

"I said be out the front at _eight_!"

"So what?" I practically scream. People are watching, but I ignore them. "You don't get to make all the rules. And you shouldn't have left without me!"

"The world isn't going to stop for you, Grace!" Zeke yells.

"I never asked it to!" I cry. "But would it have killed you to wait an extra _minute_?"

"Stop shouting!" he snaps, red-faced. "You're making a scene!"

"_I'm_ making a scene?" I lose my temper all over again, my voice rising to impressively higher decibels. "_You're _the one who came running up like a raving loony! Don't tell _me _off for shouting, you stupid hypocrite!"

"Where did you think you were going?" he demands. "Did you seriously think you were going to make it out there on your own?"

"Well, I didn't have much choice, did I?" I retort snidely.

He throws his hands up. "You're impossible!"

"No, _you're _impossible!" I snap, for the sake of arguing. The last word will be _mine_, damn it!

"No, Grace. _You're _impossible," he reiterates furiously, and when I stalk away he matches his stride easily to keep up. "You know _why _you're impossible? Because I _knew _you were going to be all spiteful and deliberately not be there at eight, so you know what I did to kill time?"

I refuse to answer. I don't care if he slayed a freaking Gyarados to _kill time_.

"Do you know, Grace?" Zeke repeats. "_Do_ _you_?"

"No, Zeke! I don't!" Fine. Let's play the condescending game. "Why don't you tell me? Though I don't give a–"

"Keep it tidy," he interrupts loudly, eyes glittering dangeorusly. "People are watching."

"Why don't you just go kiss their asses?" I stalk off again. A second later, he's back in my peripheral, like an annoying Bug Pokémon I'd kill to swat right now.

"Buzz off, Zeke, or I can't promise I won't punch you in the face."

"With your injured hand? Go ahead." He laughs shortly. "I'd love to see you try."

"I _hate_ you!"

"Feeling's mutual," he assures me scathingly.

I growl into the sky, exasperated. "Leave me alone! God _damn _it!"

"Can't do that," Zeke says smugly. "You told me to tell you."

"What?" I demand, getting sick of him and his stupid games. "Tell me _what_?"

"What I did to kill time."

"I really don't care!"

"Oh, I think you will."

"Oh, I really think I won't."

"But I really think you will."

"Shut _up, _Zeke!" I finally lose it, whirling on him. "Don't you get it? _I do not care _what you did with your _precious_ time, but if it's so _imperative _that you flaunt your own stupid brilliance in my face, go ahead. Get it over with so we can get the hell out of here, like _you _wanted."

I'm out of breath from being so enraged, and I'm getting light-headed from shouting. I glare up at him and he stares back, his expression unreadable.

I'm pretty sure it's some variation of fury, though.

"Fine," he snaps, and shoves a small round pot at me. "Take it. Let's go."

He storms off. I look at the small jar.

Red Petal ointment.

My initial astonishment is eclipsed by an unpreventable stab of immense guilt. And, just like that, I'm deflating. I stare at Zeke's back, utterly at a loss for words.

It's just so unbelievably… _nice_. And Zeke doesn't _do _nice.

But the evidence is right here, in my hand, ugly and unavoidable. He did something thoughtful for me (though I'm not even going to attempt to analyse why; I probably owe him a massive favour now), and I was a complete jerk.

I can see no other option.

I'm going to have to apologise.

And be grateful.

Ugh. This is less than ideal.

I sigh and start after him. "Zeke."

He ignores me pointedly. I suck in a sharp breath, fighting the urge to snap at him again. Don't get mad, Grace. Be nice.

"Zeke!"

"What?" he snaps shortly. I've caught him up. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, then looks stonily – and firmly – ahead.

Suck it up. Be a man. Come on, Grace.

Good god, but it's so _hard_ to be humble around him!

Blushing furiously, I stare intently at the little pot in my hands and mutter, "Thanks."

"What was that?"

My heart is thumping in my ears; my pride doesn't like eating its words.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," Zeke presses, clearly enjoying my embarrassment.

"I said 'thanks'," I snap. "Don't push it."

I shoot him a dark look and push past him, stomping away in humiliation. In a few seconds he's walking quietly beside me, and for a while we're both completely silent.

Finally, I'm calm and composed enough to be the bigger person. "Sorry."

"Me too," he says gruffly, and says nothing else, but he doesn't need to; I'm more than thankful for the chance to drop the subject before he starts smugly rubbing it in my face.

And thus we begin the next leg of our journey, welcomed by the sunny blue skies and sprawling pastures of rural Route 38.


	8. The Seventh Chapter!

**A/N: **It's important I make a vital clarification here. _**Amazing Grace **_**is largely anime-verse**, **but does contain some structural details that are game-verse**. So it's a hybrid mix. If at any point you think it's inconsistent, because it seems to have switched from anime-verse to game-verse, it probably has. Bear this in mind, because it is meant to.

I also need to disclaim here: props to **CarpeDiemEveryday** for brainstorming parts of Zeke's personality with me. He is who he is later in the story because of Carpe's input. :)

* * *

**~ Seven ~**

**On Merciless Storms and Midnight Confusions**

* * *

"So," I say, peeling the shiny wrapper off my Ragecandybar. "When're you going to show me your elite Trainer skills?"

Zeke frowns at me. "What are you talking about?"

"I haven't seen you battle yet. You seemed pretty confident that Rex could wipe out El Scorchio, so I'm guessing you think you and your demented water lizard are pretty hot stuff," I reply.

"I thought you didn't like battles."

"I can make an exception, in this case."

"Why?" Zeke says, getting defensive. "You don't think I'm a good Trainer?"

"I have no idea."

"Why do you suddenly care about this?" he asks suspiciously.

Sloping green fields sprawl away on either side of the wide dirt path we're traversing, dotted with trees, hay bales, and the occasional Ponyta, Miltank, or flock of Mareep. Overhead, the sky is the brightest blue, dotted with the fluffiest, whitest clouds I've ever seen.

I think I can legitimately say I've enjoyed today thus far.

Touch wood.

Damn, no conveniently placed planks of wood nearby! Would Zeke think I'm weird if I run over to that fence?

Hmm. Better not, Grace.

I shrug. "It might bring me some small satisfaction to see you lose."

"You're the best sister a boy could hope for," Zeke says sarcastically, then adds darkly, "And I wouldn't lose."

"Sure."

"I wouldn't!"

"You're gonna have to prove it, pal." Because I have a sneaking suspicion Zeke's been pretty cushioned so far in life. He might have been 'good' for his class back at his special Trainer school or whatever, but I think he'd probably find it a little different out in the real world.

And watching him take on a real-deal Trainer with that cocky attitude of his and get totally wiped out would be extremely entertaining. It's about time someone knocked him off his pedestal.

We stop for lunch, chilling out on the grass by the side of the road and snacking on some croissants we brought with us from Ecruteak City. I munch away contentedly, savouring the buttery, pastry goodness, and watch a nearby Mareep rub its fluffy round body against a tree stump. Every so often a faint static sound crackles in the air_._

I say decisively, "I want a Mareep."

"You and Electric-type Pokémon don't belong in the same sentence."

"Why not?" I demand, frowning.

"Have you seen your arms lately? Or your hands? Or your face?" Zeke replies, staring absently off into the distance. He doesn't even look at me when he speaks – rude, much? "And that's from a Fire-type Pokémon. Electric-types are way more volatile; they might be generally more placid in nature than Fire-types, but sometimes they can shock you without even intending to."

"What's your point?"

"Well, you look like a destructive toddler's favourite Pokédoll right now, and that was all_ deliberate_."

Ah. I see the dilemma. "So? Mareep are cute."

"And you like to hug cute things."

"Yes."

"So you'd hug the Mareep, and it would accidentally kill you," Zeke says simply.

I sigh heavily, my heart bleeding when the Mareep bleats adorably. "I want a Mareep."

"I would strongly advise you to give up on that dream."

I watch Rex, who's using his fresh-air-and-a-stretch time to taunt the flock of sheep-Pokémon from the safety of the fence line, and say presently, "We haven't seen many wild Pokémon yet."

"An unlikely stroke of good fortune," Zeke replies shortly.

"Says Mr. I-wouldn't-lose-a-Pokémon-battle," I point out slyly. "You scared of wild Pokémon, or something?"

"No," he scoffs.

"Aww, wittle Zekey. Iss'okay. I'll make sure the big, bad, mean wild Pokémon don't hurt you."

"Funny," Zeke says sarcastically, pulling a face.

"I thought so. But seriously, why is that a good thing?" Because, y'know, I'm genuinely curious.

"Grace, you managed to land yourself in trouble in the middle of a civilised and highly domesticated city," Zeke replies flatly.

"What does that have to do with anything?" I demand, offended.

"There's no-one to help us out here if you get your hand bitten off."

"Oh, come on," I splutter in disbelief. "I'm not _that _much of a calamity."

Rex hisses with laughter, one sneaky eye fixed on me.

I toss a pebble at him when Zeke's not looking. "Shut up, you."

The afternoon wears on, and by sunset we've set up camp in a small clearing a little ways from the path. As the stars peek out among the purplish clouds, Zeke and Rex collect kindling to get a fire going, and I dig out the food we bought in Ecruteak City.

We sit around the fire, boiling instant cup noodles over the flames and not saying much. I stir my noodles with my chopsticks, watching Rex blasting pebbles out of the grass with short bursts of Water Gun.

"Have you ever thought about getting another Pokémon for Rex to play with?"

Zeke looks over at the Totodile, who's now snooping around in a clump of grass; all we can see is his wiggling butt. His red-spiked tail swishes excitedly.

"He doesn't need a playmate."

"I'm sure he gets bored sometimes."

"Never."

"How do you know?"

"I just do," Zeke says confidently.

I roll my eyes. "Your logic is astounding."

We're silent for another few minutes, then I think of a new question. "Have you ever battled a Gym Leader?"

"Inquisitive today, aren't we?" Zeke mutters.

"Doesn't answer the question," I reply.

"No," Zeke says. "Happy? Now stop pestering me."

I set my noodles aside, resting my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand. "Why haven't you taken on any Gyms?"

"I haven't had time."

I snort, amused. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Isn't that the point of Trainer School? I thought all students dedicate their time to is collecting badges and taking on the Pokémon League_._"

"Some do," Zeke replies testily.

"Why not you, then?"

"I have better things to do with my time."

"Like what?" I demand, smirking as he reddens. He's bluffing this, and he's progressively cornering himself in a dead end.

"Like actually _studying–_"

"So you can memorize things, right? Like how many Types of Pokémon there are," I quip slyly.

He shoots me a glare. "Yeah. That kind of stuff."

"So that's why you couldn't remember them all. Huh. Makes sense now." I grin at him.

"Shut up, Spacey. What do _you_ know?"

"Mature today, aren't we?" I retort. He's not getting off that easily. "So you've never been inside a Gym?"

"Good god, why are you being so nosy about this?" Zeke snaps, eyes icy.

I shrug. "Because I've never been inside a Gym, and I want to know what it's like. Duh. Why else?"

Zeke sighs, settling back on his log. He glares into the fire. "Fine. Yes, I've been inside a Gym."

"Which one?" I ask immediately.

He scowls darkly at me. "If you weren't so impatient I'd have told you already."

I mimic zipping my lips closed and tossing the imaginary key over my shoulder. "I'll be quiet."

Zeke rolls his eyes. "That's an impossible task you're setting yourself."

"I can be quiet!" I protest loudly.

"Sure," he says pointedly. I frown and cross my arms, but obediently say nothing more.

"I went into the Goldenrod Gym once," Zeke continues reluctantly. "But I didn't battle or anything. I dated one of the Gym Trainers at one point, and she told me to meet her there after school."

What a letdown. And here I was thinking it would be some exciting story. Majorly disappointing.

"Was it cool?" I can't help asking.

"Nope," Zeke says simply. "It was all girly."

"What's wrong with girly?" I demand.

"It's not cool."

I let it go and change tactics. "So if you were supposedly one of the best Trainers in your class, why didn't you ever challenge the Gym? Other people must have done it."

Zeke shrugs. "Never felt like it."

"Wouldn't other students find that odd?"

"Not necessarily." But he doesn't quite look at me when he says it, which I've come to recognise means he's not exactly telling the truth.

"It just doesn't make sense," I press. "You've always been so disgustingly cocky about being the best in your class and beating the other students. I'd've thought someone like you would've leaped at the chance to prove your brilliance by taking down the Gym Leader."

"I just never wanted to, okay?" Zeke snaps shortly, his voice rising. Unless I want another screaming match, it's probably time to back off. "Leave it alone, Grace."

"You're very defensive," I comment. He glares at me dangerously; I raise my hands, surrendering. "Just saying."

The silence this time is tense. Finally, Zeke gets up from his log, looking around for Rex. He stalks away from the fire, his hands jammed in his pockets, muttering to himself. I manage to catch the end of what sounds something like, "As if anyone could take on a Leader with only one Pokémon, anyway."

X3

The next morning is chilly and overcast.

We toast English muffins over the dying embers of last nights' fire, munching on them as we pack up camp. Zeke leaves Rex out to walk with us, and he scarpers ahead, snapping playfully at particularly long blades of grass poking out from behind the paddock fences.

"I think he needs a playmate."

"Shut up, Grace."

The first drops of rain splatter down as we're finishing lunch, and we turn our eyes to the miserable heavens in dismay. The clouds are darker now than this morning, and it doesn't look like they're going to disperse any time soon. We're in for a long afternoon.

"Did you pack an extra umbrella?" Zeke asks, as the sporadic drops turn into light drizzle. Rex tilts his head back, opening his jaws wide to catch the water on his tongue.

"Nope. I've only got mine."

Zeke sighs. "Brilliant."

I dig the umbrella and my japara out of my pack and close it as tightly as possible, hoping its waterproof. Judging by how faded and tattered the poor thing is, I'm pretty doubtful.

"Let's get moving," Zeke says. "The sooner we hit the road again, the sooner we might find shelter if it starts pouring."

It drizzles lightly for about half an hour. My japara keeps me warm, and the hood keeps my hair dry, but it's not enough when the rain comes down harder. I pop up the umbrella, watching Rex playing in the puddles, and thinking him slightly insane for liking the rain.

But then, I suppose he _is _a Water Pokémon. They're probably supposed to.

We continue on until a faint rumble of thunder growls overhead. It's been a good hour and a half, and the rain's as steady as ever; even with the umbrella it's getting hard to see through it.

And my shoes are soaked through. Gross.

Unfortunately, there's been no change in the landscape, and all I can see in either direction is endless fields and rolling green hills. It doesn't look like we're about to stumble upon civilisation, or even a farmhouse.

I've gotta say, it's not looking promising.

Through the gushing sound of rainfall I hear the anxious bleats of Mareep. I shout to Zeke, "They sound worried!"

"There's probably a storm coming."

"I could've guessed that from the thunder!"

"Don't be a wise-ass," Zeke snaps. "I meant a _bad _storm."

"Isn't this bad enough?" I groan. Another rumble of thunder rolls overhead, followed by a quick flash of lightning, and I jump reflexively.

"Rex!" Zeke calls. Ahead, the Totodile turns back, hearing his name and splashing his tail in a muddy puddle. "Don't go so far ahead! Stay close!"

Rex waits until we catch him up, then resumes his marvellous puddle game. To my immense irritation he leaps into one just as I pass by, drenching the hem of my jeans through to the skin.

I shriek and kick water at him furiously in thoughtless retaliation. He hisses in delight and splashes back enthusiastically.

"This is not a water fight!" I explode, as water drips into my socks. "_Get away from me_!"

"Stop it," Zeke snaps. "Not now."

He ducks his hooded head as the heavens give an almighty crack and shower heavy needles of water down like hailstones. I gasp as they pelt the umbrella like bullets. It's freezing cold against my legs.

"Recall him!" I bellow over the din. "It's getting bad!"

We're running, our feet splashing in puddles. I'm so wet now that I barely register the water flooding my shoes. Another rumble overhead; a second streak of lightning. The thunderclouds are black and menacing; the skies are dark as far as the eye can see.

I have no idea what time it is.

Out of nowhere, the wind picks up, blasting me unexpectedly from the right. The umbrella is ripped fiercely from my grip; with a sound mixed between a flap and a snap, it turns inside out, the spokes pointing at awkward angles.

Well, you lived a short but fulfilled life, my friend.

Zeke recalls Rex. The wind is hissing wildly through the paddocks, pressing the grass flat against the earth. I squeal in alarmed surprise when a particularly strong gust almost knocks me off my feet.

"Come on!" Zeke calls, and the alarm in his voice only exacerbates my own fear.

Zeke never loses his cool.

He climbs over the fence, dropping into the paddock, and waits to help me down. I half land on him, already scrambling, my fingers slipping against his wet japara, and we struggle across the upward-sloping field toward a broad tree a few yards away.

It seems to take forever, and my jeans are covered in grass stains by the time we get there, but we finally make it, stumbling into the dim shelter of the tree, gasping for breath.

"I hate rain!" I declare, shivering violently, droplets dripping from my nose. I'm freezing to the bone; there was only so much my japara could protect me from. My hair's only partially dry. I can't feel my fingers, feet or face.

But we're safe and dry, for the moment.

Zeke sags against the tree trunk. "This is hell."

"What do we do now?" I ask, still panting. "This storm isn't going to blow over anytime soon."

"We've only got a few hours 'til nightfall," Zeke says, frowning. His black hair is plastered to his forehead; he flicks it to the side and droplets rain down like a dog shaking its fur out.

"We can't sit here all night; we'll freeze," I say, alarmed. "Do we set up the tent here?"

Zeke throws me an incredulous look. "Never shelter beneath a tree during a storm, in case of falling branches or lightning strikes. Survival 101. We're just regrouping before we keep moving."

"Okay, point taken," I reply, staring glumly out at the sheet of water. It kind of reminds me of what I imagine it'd be like standing inside a waterfall cave and watching the river cascading down in front of the entrance.

Okay, maybe not quite that heavy; it's not exactly raining a river. Though it is a pretty damn heavy shower.

"Look," Zeke says suddenly, his voice hopeful. I follow his glance, and to my immense delight, spot a tiny piece of roof just visibly poking out from behind a slope. I would've missed it if he hadn't pointed it out.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Does it matter?" Zeke replies, hoisting his pack onto one shoulder. "It's a structure, and it could be our only chance. Let's go."

I shoulder my pack as he heads back out into the downpour, and follow him through the field, grimacing as muddy water squelches through the soles of my trainers. Disgusting.

The paddock slopes downward suddenly and sharply, and I almost lose my footing several times. Once, I actually do trip – on a slippery rock I'd failed to see embedded in the earth. My sneaker jerks out from underneath me and I pitch forward, crashing into Zeke's pack and taking him down with me.

I hit the ground with a solid smack, rolling and sliding the last few feet to flat ground, and lie there awkwardly for a few moments, astonished, confused, my heart thudding with shock. I sit up carefully, brushing mud off my sleeves and checking for broken bones, and spit grass from my mouth. All the while the rain pours steadily down.

Life sucks.

"Get up," Zeke says, already at my side. He reaches down and pulls on my arm, half hauling me to my feet. "We're almost there."

He doesn't even tell me off for bowling him over.

I discover in those last few feet to the shed doors that I've hurt my ankle somehow in the fall; either twisted it on the rock or landed on it badly. It twinges sharply with pain when I stand on it, and I end up limping pathetically to the barn, glad that Zeke can't see my miserable tears of pain and frustration in the rain.

We drag ourselves into the dim shed, slamming the wooden door thankfully behind us. It isn't warm inside, but it's dry, and enough natural light filters down from a skylight to make out hay bales and farming equipment against the wall. The place reeks of straw, dirt and farm Pokémon.

Gross.

We dump our packs and I peel off my soaked japara, thankful for the dry sweater underneath. My hair drips cold water down the back of my neck, but I ignore it, yanking open my pack with trembling arms and searching with clumsy fingers for a pair of dry pants to replace my drenched jeans.

I'm victorious; unearthing a pair of old sweatpants emblazoned with my ex-middle school's lacrosse team name. I never even played lacrosse; I'd had to borrow them one day after getting muddy in P.E. and had forgotten to return them.

I'd always felt sort of guilty for stealing school property, but right now, I couldn't be more grateful for my sins.

I struggle to unzip my jeans, and have just started to peel them off when I glance up and catch Zeke with a stunned expression on his face.

"Don't look! Turn around!"

"Some warning would've been nice," he snaps irritably, turning his back. Flushing, I rip my jeans off and stuff my feet into the sweatpants, ignoring the pain stabbing my sore ankle. I'm too tired to deal with it right now.

"I've seen girls before, you know," Zeke continues smugly. "It's not like I'm freaking out over here."

I can hear him smirking. The jerk.

"Spare me the details," I retort drily. "Anyway, I'm different. I don't want you to see me changing – it's weird!"

"Grow up," Zeke says flatly. "You're my sister."

"Kind of," I can't help adding.

"Close enough."

True.

For some reason, though, it's kind of offensive that he doesn't consider me a normal girl. Even if I _did _have a legitimate brother, I'd still be able to look at him as an attractive, contributing species of the male race.

Of course, now part of my brain is considering whether Zeke's attractive or not.

Oh, stop. Stop right there, Grace. That's so wrong on so many levels.

Shudder.

Decidedly weirded out, I ball my wet jeans up and toss them at my pack, dropping onto a hay bale with a tired sigh.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck in here?"

Zeke's opened the barn door ajar, and is watching the rain come down with his arms folded across his chest. He shrugs. "No idea. We'll just have to wait it out."

I sigh again and keel over backwards, flopping down atop the bale and staring up into the rafters. It's nowhere near as comfortable as the movies make it seem; a piece of hard straw pokes into the back of my neck. Ugh.

Looks like we're in for a long night.

X3

When I awaken, my first thought is one of confusion, because it's still dark.

I blink and wait for my eyes to adjust. A noise roused me, and the silence now is suspicious, like something's about to happen.

Something flutters in the rafters, probably just the wings of a bird Pokémon roosting up there. Nonetheless, I'm startled so much I nearly roll off the hay bales. Nearby, Zeke makes a snuffling noise in his sleep; I can hear him moving around in his sleeping bag.

I sit up, tucking my bangs behind my ears, my heart thudding rapidly. The sleeping bag falls from my shoulders. I kick my legs free and scramble from the bale as noises outside pierce the quiet. My fingers skitter frantically, searching the ground near my pack for my flashlight, which I swear I left out precisely in the unlikely event of this situation occurring.

But of course, with my luck, I can't find the stupid thing anywhere.

I do, however, close my fingers around El Scorchio's Pokéball box, and I snatch it up. If all else fails, maybe using the box as a makeshift grenade would be an adequate defence strategy.

Outside, something runs into what sounds like an oil drum, or something tin. It echoes loudly in the night, and I flinch, limping close to the door to peek timidly out through the gap Zeke left open.

Remember, Grace, there's a pitchfork and a spade leaning just against the wall. If something attacks you, grab one and strike.

Good god, my ankle's killing me.

I press one hand against the wall, leaning my weight against it and lessening the distance between my fingers and the range of weapons at my disposal. I'm close enough that I can stretch and peer out into the night.

I inch my face closer, closer, clos–

With a gigantic creak that scares the living daylights out of me, the door is pulled open, screeching on its hinges, and frigid air brushes my cheeks as I scream. Zeke mumble-shouts something in groggy alarm at the same time I leap into action, reaching crazily behind me with my free arm waving it around in search of the pitchfork.

Or spade. Or rake. Or something.

A strange person is yelling. Zeke is yelling. I'm screaming. Something inhuman growls threateningly. In the field outside, several Mareep are bleating in alarm.

The strange person's shadowy form appears in the doorway. My fingers close around the smooth wooden handle of one of the farm tools. I jump forward and yank it with me (sort of), landing on my bad ankle with a strangled yelp and instantly dropping both the handle and El Scorchio's box. The one-tonne-heavy iron head of whatever it is thuds to the ground, narrowly missing my foot and landing instead on the stranger's.

"Yaargh!"

"Ohmigosh!" I immediately gasp, without thinking. "I'm so sorry!"

"What the hell is going on?" Zeke bellows. The inhuman growl comes again, and something agile and fuzzy propels itself into the fray. Zeke gives a shout of either surprise or pain (or both), and the telltale sounds of a struggle ensue.

"My _foot_," the stranger groans.

"Are you okay?" I ask, fluttering my hands around uselessly. I make a move toward him and forget about my bung ankle. It buckles, and down I go, smacking my elbow against the wall.

"Mother of _God_!"

"Grace, _what the hell is going on_?" Zeke bellows again. "Get off me, you stupid mutt! Aargh–_OW_!"

Bright white light fills the room suddenly, and for a moment I just sit there, blinded. When my dazzled eyes recover, I look around. A black-striped burnt orange doglike Pokémon is frozen in its attempt to maul Zeke's foot, its vanilla mane fluffed defensively and a warrior-like gleam in its eyes. Zeke has his hands balled in its fur, his face contorted into an expression of mixed rage and pain. The stranger turns out to be a tall, broad-shouldered guy about Zeke's age, half slouched against the wall, evidently in agony. One olive-skinned hand is slammed against the light switch.

"Who are you?" Zeke and the stranger demand in unison.

"You first," Zeke snaps.

"_You_ first," the stranger replies. "Considering this is _my_ barn you're trespassing."

"We didn't mean to trespass!" I blurt out, panicking.

"Yeah, we did," Zeke contradicts me.

"But it was only to shelter from the storm!" I stammer. "We weren't trying to steal anything, I promise!"

"Like there's anything to steal here," Zeke snorts, not helping at all.

"Please don't call Officer Jenny!" I beg, misting up in my worry. God help us if we get arrested in the middle of nowhere.

The stranger looks between me and Zeke with suspicious hazel eyes, his brows furrowed in a deep frown that wrinkles the bridge of his prominent, straight nose.

Finally, his shoulders relax. "Shepherd, let go."

The reddish Pokémon growls unrelentingly.

"Come on, boy," the stranger presses, his voice more assuring. "Ease up."

With a final, warning huff and a glare up at Zeke, 'Shepherd' obediently releases his foot, backing away reluctantly to sit proudly at his master's feet. The stranger leans down to ruffle his chest with affection.

"'Atta boy."

"It nearly ate my foot," Zeke protests. "That's hardly praiseworthy."

"He's trained to do that," the stranger replies, shooting Zeke a reproachful frown. "He guards the farm Pokémon from poachers."

"We're not poachers," I say instantly.

"You don't look like poachers," the stranger agrees.

"Sorry about your foot." I attempt to smooth over the frostiness with a tentative, apologetic smile.

"You sure know how to drop a spade," he replies with a short laugh and a quick, boyish grin. "Here." He offers me one long-fingered hand and hauls me easily to my feet. I stumble a little, steadying myself against the wall.

"You okay?" Zeke demands, still bristling.

"Yeah," I reply shakily. "Think I put too much weight on it."

"Are you hurt?" the stranger asks, his expression becoming concerned.

I flush. "It's nothing. Twisted my ankle slipping on a rock yesterday."

"She's probably sprained it," Zeke interjects sourly.

"You should come inside and let my dad look at it," the stranger says, frowning. He looks into my face, his eyes quietly examining, considering me curiously but without immediate judgement. I get the strangest feeling he's attempting to figure me out. It's unnerving.

I look away. "Oh, no, really–"

"Don't be an idiot," Zeke snaps impatiently. "If you can't walk, we're stranded here."

"Do you need help?" the stranger asks kindly, gesturing with his arms.

"I've got her," Zeke barks, looping his arm roughly around me and glaring at him. "You just… walk ahead and make sure your beast doesn't eat anyone's toes."

"He won't attack unless I tell him to," the stranger says indignantly, but he seems to sense not to push it. Zeke's like an injured animal ready to lash out at anything that gets too close; his mood is absolutely foul. Even I'm too timid to challenge anything he says right now.

We set off from the barn, following the stranger through the mud, Shepherd circling us watchfully. It's still raining lightly. We cross the yard to a quaint farmhouse a few yards away. I didn't even notice it yesterday, despite its rusted, silvery tin roof and large water tank.

The stranger leads us under a grapevine-entwined patio, past a faded outdoor setting and a battered barbeque grill, and in through a fly-wire back door. He flicks on a light, revealing a small laundry with a narrow corridor leading off the far wall. Mud-encrusted gumboots are lined up near the door on sheets of old newspaper.

"This way," the stranger says, leading on down the corridor. Doors are closed all along it, and the floorboards creak loudly as we walk. We pass through a shadowy lounge room, emerging in a cluttered, old-fashioned kitchen, lit brightly by a single, naked bulb.

A man is sitting at the wooden dining table, enjoying a cup of coffee and a leisurely browse of the newspaper as though it's perfectly normal behaviour for the middle of the night.

He looks up, surprised, when we all traipse in, and despite knowing our still-unnamed companion for all of ten measly minutes, I recognise the strong jaw and solid structure in the cheekbones, the same pointed nose. Even the man's thinning hair seems to be an aged version of his son's short, scruffy brown locks. The resemblance is astonishing.

Only the thick, dark moustache is the obvious difference.

"What's this?" he demands, closing the paper.

"I found them in the barn," the stranger explains.

"Sorry," I add hastily, blushing. "We were sheltering from the storm."

The man –gentle-eyed, another quality shared, I decide – nods his understanding.

"She's hurt her ankle," the stranger continues. "Could you take a quick look at it before you head out?"

"Head out?" I inquire, before realising it's both a rude interruption and absolutely none of my business.

"To work," the man says gruffly, getting up from the table. "I'm a veterinarian. I specialise in farm Pokémon." He taps the tabletop. "Sit her here. Jess, grab the first aid kit."

Jess, huh?

Interesting.

Zeke helps me over to the table and drops into a dining chair.

"Which ankle is it?" the doctor asks. I indicate. He rests a small pair of spectacles on his nose. "Please remove your shoe."

I do as I'm told, glancing up as 'Jess' reappears with the first aid kit.

The kitchen is filled with a kind of awkward silence as the farm boy's father examines my swollen ankle. He eventually diagnoses a tendon sprain, and expertly bandages it for me, recommending a few days' rest before attempting exercise.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, pulling my shoe back on carefully.

"You're welcome," he replies with a smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes. "Feel free to make yourselves at home; the wife'll be in soon. She's out collecting eggs for breakfast."

"But it's the middle of the night," I can't help blurting in confusion.

They both chuckle.

"It's almost six o'clock, sweetheart," the doctor says. "Mornings dawn much earlier on a farm."

Holy Miltank. If it's only _almost _six now, then 'Jess' must've been up and about at, like, five thirty.

Solid effort.

Zeke yawns hugely.

"Sorry to leave so soon, but I've got a check up on a neighbouring farm at six thirty," the doctor says. He hoists a coat from a line of hooks on the wall and picks up an old-fashioned medicine bag from its perch on a rickety, peeling chair in the corner that looks like it was handmade about a century ago.

"See you later, Dad," 'Jess' says. Then the veterinarian is gone.

The kitchen is thick with uncomfortable silence.

Zeke yawns again.

"So," I say, to break the ice. "Your name's Jess."

"Jesse, actually," he replies. "But most people call me Jess."

"I'm Grace," I reply. "And that's my brother, Zeke."

"Stepbrother," Zeke corrects lazily.

"It's kind of weird," I explain apologetically, as Jesse looks between us curiously. "We're not technically related, but he's annoying enough to be my brother."

Jesse laughs. "You're lucky you've only got one. I've got five."

"Seriously?" I splutter, shocked.

"If you stick around for breakfast, you'll get to meet them all," Jesse replies. "Except my older brother; he's not here."

I glance at Zeke, but he's falling asleep in his chair. "After this morning's drama, I really think we should get going again. We've caused enough trouble as it is. But thanks for the offer; it's really kind of you."

"Don't be silly," Jesse says, giving me a gentle but stern frown. "You can't go anywhere today. Dad said not to exercise, remember? Walking counts as exercise."

I bite my lip and ask, awkward with embarrassment, "Do you mind if we camp on your property for a few nights? We'll stay out of your way. Promise."

Jesse smiles. "Don't worry about that; Mom'll have beds set up for you within the hour."

"Oh, no–" I begin, wide-eyed, but he cuts me off.

"She loves guests. Trust me, she won't take no for an answer."

The sound of the back door banging on its hinges echoes down the hall to the kitchen, jerking Zeke from his doze, and we all look around as a lean woman strides in, a wicker basket in her arms. She notices us instantly, her long, wispy brown braid swinging over her shoulder.

"Well, good morning everybody," she greets with a pleasantly surprised smile. "Who're your friends, Jay?"

"Uh, we–" I begin awkwardly, but Jesse cuts across me.

"This is Grace and Zeke. They're going to be staying with us for a few days while Grace's sprained ankle heals."

"How lovely!" his mother exclaims, beaming as she sets the basket down on the bench. "I don't mean your injured ankle, of course, dear. That's very unfortunate. But it's nice to have some new faces around here every once in a while. Are you hungry?"

"Starving," Zeke replies before I've even opened my mouth. I shoot him a glare. He ignores me.

Jesse's mom beams wider. "Excellent. Jay, could you go and wrestle the others out of bed? I'm going to go wash up before we start."

They both leave the room. I round on Zeke. "You could be a little more courteous!"

"Hey, she offered."

"Zeke, these people are being extremely, unnecessarily generous to us – they could have called the police on us for squatting in their barn!"

"But they didn't," Zeke points out with a lazy shrug. "And now they're offering us food and accommodation. I'm not stupid enough to turn that down. Though it _is _going to suck being stuck on this redneck dump for the next few days."

"That's exactly the attitude I'm talking about," I hiss angrily. "We're _not _going to _use_ these nice people, Zeke. If we're staying here, you're going to have to be polite, friendly, and grateful."

He rolls his eyes, irritating me, and something inside me snaps.

"In fact, we're going to help."

His eyes bug out of his head. "What?"

I cross my arms over my chest. "Since we're getting in the way and burdening them with extra mouths to feed, we're going to do as much as we can to help out around here."

"You're kidding, right?" Zeke demands. "Are you feeling okay – do you feel hot? You might have a fever."

"I'm not delirious, Zeke," I snap. "And we are not just going to take up space in their house, eat all their food, and then leave. That's so rude. And if you don't comply, I'm going to be seriously pissed off."

"Good," Zeke says shortly. "Be pissed off, then."

I open my mouth angrily to retort, but footsteps echo in the hall, and Jesse's mom reappears, effectively ending our conversation.

I scowl darkly at Zeke, letting him know this case is far from closed, but he just relaxes confidently in his chair.

"Okay," Jesse's mom says to herself, pulling open drawers and collecting utensils on the bench top. I slide carefully off the table, hobbling over.

"So, Mrs–" I trail off awkwardly, realising I don't even know Jesse's surname.

"Applesap," she says cheerfully. "But you can call me Pam. Welcome to Applesap Farm, by the way. I'm not sure if anyone's given you a proper welcome yet."

"Thanks," I say, sticking my hands in my jean pockets because I'm not really sure what else to do, and ignoring Zeke sniggering in the background, no doubt amused by the farm's unfortunately tacky name. "Can I help with anything?"

"Sure," Pam replies, smiling brightly. She hands me a big mixing bowl. "You can crack some eggs into this."

"What are we making?" I ask, peering down at the speckled eggs in the wicker basket. They're all different sizes and colours, unlike the eggs you get in cartons from the store, which are all practically identical. Somehow, these mismatched ones look more authentic.

"I'm thinking scrambled eggs."

"Sounds good." I glance over at Zeke still lounging at the table. "Zeke?"

"Yeah," he agrees, stifling another huge yawn. But that's not what I mean, and he knows it. He stares levelly at me as I glare him down, but he doesn't cave. Finally, I turn to Pam and ask, "Is there anything Zeke can do?"

She laughs good-naturedly. "In a minute we'll need to get the toaster going."

I smile triumphantly at Zeke. "Great. He can handle that."

He scowls.

I'm not entirely sure what happens next, but one second I'm happily cracking eggs into the bowl, tossing the shells in the trash, chatting away pleasantly to Pam and enjoying the peaceful morning as dawn quietly approaches. The next, scampering footsteps are thundering down the hall and the kitchen is suddenly filled with little pyjama-clad people.

They're a rowdy bunch, all aged between five and fifteen, and they talk over one another, bickering and jostling for their mother's attention, all firing questions at once and tugging on each other's hair.

It's bedlam.

"Enough!" Pam finally snaps, and, miraculously, they all quieten. "Goodness! Where are your manners? Not one of you even stopped to say hello to our guests."

"Hi," they all chorus obediently. There are three boys and a girl, who looks to be the youngest. She stands at about hip-height, and has her fingers clenched around the worn arm of a well-loved Pikachu Pokédoll. Her free hand is fisted, and she rubs at her eyes tiredly.

"These," says Pam, "are my monsters: Andy, Lachlan, Rick and Hayley."

They all stare curiously. Zeke offers no conversation, and I have no idea what to say.

Awkward, much?

"Are you a Pokémon Trainer?" Hayley finally asks me, the first to speak.

I don't really know how to handle small-person talk. "Kind of."

Seems to be my response to everything these days.

"Do you have a Pikachu?" she asks instead, still staring at me with big brown eyes.

"No."

She seems to accept this answer. "Mommy says I can have a Pikachu when I'm bigger."

What am I supposed to say to that? 'Cool'? "That's… nice."

Zeke snorts derisively.

"Mom, what are we having for breakfast?" one of the boys – who looks about ten – asks, clearly not interested in us.

"Eggs," she replies. "I need someone on toast, someone on setting the table, and someone to let the Torchic out. Sort it out between yourselves."

The boys start yelling at each other simultaneously.

"In a quiet manner!" Pam bellows, somehow louder than the three of them together. "And preferably not in the kitchen. Go on – scat!"

Grumbling, the boys take their quarrel to the lounge room.

Jesse, who's been leaning in the doorway the whole time, shakes his head, smiling broadly when I glance at him. "Told you."

"Jay, can you round up the Mareep?" Pam asks, stirring salt and pepper into the pan of eggs on the stove. The smell is beyond divine. My tummy rumbles appreciatively.

"Sure." He pushes off the door frame, reaching into the pocket of one of the hanging coats and retrieving a minimized Pokéball.

"Can I come?" I ask suddenly, interested to see what his chore entails.

Jesse shrugs. "Sure. Be careful with your foot, though. If it hurts to walk, you'd better stay inside."

I glance back at Zeke, who's looking mighty bored. "You all right helping Mrs Applesap for a while, Zeke?"

"Pam!" she interjects indignantly. "You make me feel old."

He gives me a flat, unimpressed, I-hate-you-for-ruining-my-life kind of look. "Yup. Just peachy."

I flash him a too-bright smile. "Great. We'll be back soon."

"Whatever."

I glare at him, glad that he's muttering too low for Pam to overhear. Arrogant, ungrateful jerk.

"Here," Jesse says, grabbing a fleece-lined coat from the hooks and offering it to me. "You'd better put this on; it's pretty cold out there this morning."

It's way too big, and smells of dirt and oldness_, _but it's warm enough. I pull it on. "Okay. Ready."

Jesse grins at me. "Okay, then. Let's go."


	9. The Eighth Chapter!

**A/N: **At the beginning of this chapter, it might seem a little bit plot-hole-ish that Grace doesn't know what a Growlithe is. Especially as, later on in particular, she makes metaphorical references to other species of Pokemon, which may seem to be an inconsistency. This is because she knows of _some _species, but certainly not _all_ species. She _is _still quite a Poke-noob, remember.

Growlithe in particular might seem like a poor choice for her not to know of, especially considering pretty much every Officer Jenny (bar those particular examples who train other species, like Spinarak) trains a squadron of Growlithe. This, dear reader, is simply because I adore the opening scene of this chapter. So I decided to leave it the way it was, regardless of potential flaws.

Please bear this in mind - that it was a deliberate author decision, and not an unaddressed character inconsistency. :)

* * *

**~ Eight ~**

**Of Farmyard Days and Near-death Experiences**

* * *

"What kind of Pokémon is Shepherd?"

I'm resting against the wooden fence, my arms draped over the top rung, watching the proceedings in the paddock beyond. The sun is just peeking out from behind the distant mountains, winking against the dusky morning sky.

Jesse, astride a lean, gentle-natured Ponyta, turns in the saddle and grins at me. "He's a Growlithe. Most loyal Pokémon a Trainer could hope for."

I can certainly attest to that, having witnessed him in full defend-the-fort mode. Pretty sure Zeke's ankle would agree.

I watch Shepherd bound effortlessly across the paddock in four easy strides. He's so agile and smooth it's almost like he's a breath of wind curling through the grass. The Mareep cluster together, edging away from him uneasily, following his movements with gentle, watchful eyes. Every now and then one bleats apprehensively.

"Let's make this quick and easy, Shepherd," Jesse calls. "Breakfast's waiting."

"Grrrowl!" Shepherd returns, and moves closer to the awaiting herd.

And quick and easy it is. In just a few minutes, Shepherd has the Mareep tightly clustered and trotting in the direction of the pen. They bleat anxiously at him, moving away whenever he darts near. Twice a stray Mareep breaks away from the others, but he guides them back with ease.

Jesse hangs back the whole time, trotting back and forth behind the herd and calling encouragement to Shepherd.

Then the Mareep are all inside the pen, and Jesse's latching the gate.

"Good work, Shep," he praises when they've returned from the paddock. He leans down to ruffle the Growlithe's chest. His Ponyta snorts, giving a low whinny and nudging his shoulder for attention. Laughing, Jesse straightens up, obediently rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"You were great, too," he assures her. She snorts again, less affronted.

"What's her name?" I ask, as we walk towards the stables. I glance at the Ponyta, admiring her graceful beauty and her brilliant flaming mane, but wary of her at the same time.

After all, I'm pretty sure Ponyta have unpredictable natures–the stories I've heard about them rearing suddenly and crushing their Trainers' feet are enough for me to make sure Jesse's between me and his Pokémon the whole time.

I'd like to keep my toes, thanks. Preferably all of them.

"Dash," Jesse replies, giving her firm neck an affectionate slap. She turns her head to nibble at his fingers. "She's still quite young for a Ponyta, but she's both spirited and gentle-natured, so she's not hard to train."

"She adores you," I note. "You can see it in her eyes."

He smiles. "She's my special girl, aren't you, Dash?"

She nickers and nudges his shoulder. Her mane licks at his ears, and I wince reflexively, but Jesse doesn't seem to be in any pain.

"Doesn't she burn you?" I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets to relieve my freezing fingers.

"Not at all," Jesse replies, and to dismay, puts his hand right into her flaming mane. He grins at my awed expression, wiggling his fingers as fire licks his knuckles, proving his point. "But that's because she trusts me. If _you_ were to try and touch her, she'd probably burn you."

"Yeah," I sigh glumly. "I've heard the theory."

Jesse laughs. "Don't let it get you down. If you spend some time with her, Dash'll come to trust you, too. She might even let you ride her."

I laugh nervously. "Oh, that's not–that's okay. I'm fine. Thanks, though."

Me, ride a Ponyta? Not in this lifetime, buddy.

I have enough accidents on sturdy ground without attempting to successfully survive horseback riding. I can't imagine I'd stay astride very long.

"Well, if you change your mind, just say the word," Jesse says, leading our little procession into the wooden stables. It's dim inside, and smells strongly of dry straw. Some of the stalls are occupied by other Ponyta–some bigger than Dash and some smaller–but Jesse continues past all of them to the very last one, in which he tethers Dash. She paws at the straw, snacking from a handful of oats he offers her.

"How did you do it?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

Jesse looks up, confused. "Do what?"

"Get her to trust you."

"Well, I told you I spent lots of time with her," he begins.

"Yeah," I interject. "But what if that doesn't work?"

He looks thoughtful. "I guess it depends on how much respect you have for your Pokémon, and how much it has for you."

I frown. "And suppose it has no respect for you."

"You need to earn it," Jesse says simply, like I suspected he would. Seems there really is no big secret shortcut way to get your Pokémon to like you. You just have to go the long way round.

"By battling, right?" I sigh.

Jesse cocks his head, considering. "Not always. Some Pokémon need to feel respected and valued to give their Trainers the time of day. Some need physical proof, yes, like badges. Some need lots of affection. Every Pokémon is different."

Hmm. Wise words.

"This isn't about Dash, is it?" Jesse guesses, and I look up from the tethering hook, which I've been staring at, lost in thought.

I smile guiltily. "Not really."

He doesn't push for details, but I explain anyway. "I've got a Fire-type Pokémon, too. But it–he–kind of loathes me. No matter what I do, he either tries to set me on fire, or run away, or simply refuses to accept any kind of peace offering, or food, or even help."

"I see," Jesse says, leaning his elbows on the wooden barrier separating me from Dash's stall. "Is that how you got the scar on your cheek?"

"You noticed, huh?"

He grins sheepishly. "It wasn't my place to be nosy."

I shrug. "We had a small dispute over lunch a few weeks ago."

"Looks like it must've been a nasty burn," he comments, peering at it more closely now that he doesn't have to politely pretend it's not there. My cheeks warm.

I tuck my hair behind my ears, clearing my throat uncomfortably. "Yeah, it hurt. But it's been properly treated and stuff, and –"

"Man, he got your hand, too," Jesse realises, staring at the hand by my ear. He whistles appreciatively. "You guys seriously haven't bonded yet."

"No, not yet," I say flatly. "And I don't think it's just a case of him needing more time. I swear to god, I'm on the top of his hit list." I look away, feeling silly about my next words. "If I told you I was scared of my Pokémon, it probably wouldn't be an exaggeration."

"Pokémon sense fear," Jesse says immediately. "He'll know you're afraid of him. It probably isn't helping the situation."

"But I don't even understand what the situation _is,_" I say unhappily. "It makes it hard to try and work out a solution when I can't really put my finger on the problem. Zeke thinks it might be because I don't have any badges."

"Could be," Jesse agrees. "When was the last time you battled with him?"

I know my answer isn't going to reflect positively on me as a Trainer, or my conundrum, but I see no advantage in lying. Reddening, I mumble, "Never."

To my surprise, Jesse doesn't chastise me. He just looks thoughtful. "You don't battle him at all?"

I shake my head, feeling like a terrible person. "I don't like it; it's barbaric."

"Only if you make it barbaric," he replies. When I obviously don't understand, he continues. "For most Trainers and their Pokémon, it's a team game. It's not about heartless people pitting their poor, enslaved Pokémon against each other to see which can beat the other up quickest, which I'm guessing is how you see it–right?"

"Maybe." Not quite that dramatic, but close enough.

Jesse nods. "You have to remember that Pokémon like battling, too. They enjoy it. It not only boosts their self-esteem and gives them confidence in their abilities, but it's also physical exercise. Like humans, Pokémon need to keep fit – the endorphins released when exercising helps keep them happy. Sport gives _anybody_ a natural high."

"I suppose."

He's not exactly altering my perspective on things, but he clearly knows what he's talking about, which is impressive enough for me to take him seriously.

And he obviously knows more than Zeke. But I suppose that's not really saying much.

"Hey, Jesse?" I ask suddenly. "How many Types of Pokémon are there?"

"Types of _species_ or general Types, as in Fire-type, Water-type, and so on?"

I didn't even realise there was another kind. "Uh, the second one."

"Seventeen," he says simply. "Why?"

I grin. "No reason."

It makes me inexplicably happy, though, that he doesn't seem to think I'm stupid for not knowing. It's a nice change from Zeke's constant derision.

"I have a suggestion," Jesse says presently, dragging me from my thoughts.

"Suggest away."

"Why don't you let your Pokémon battle Shepherd after breakfast?"

"I don't want to battle him," I reply uneasily. Wasn't he listening?

"Maybe he'll battle by himself. You never know until you try," Jesse replies.

I'm doubtful. "I guess."

"Think about it while we eat. But I think it could help." Jesse shrugs. "Maybe."

We return to the house, where the delicious smells of breakfast hit me full-strength. My tummy rumbles again, more insistent this time. Zeke's still sitting at the table when we walk in; I glare at him, unimpressed.

"You're just in time," Pam says, smiling as she looks up from the pan. "I'm dishing up now. Jay, round up the monsters, would you?"

He disappears, and I pad over to offer my assistance. "Do you want me to carry anything?"

"I wouldn't trust her," Zeke says. "She'll probably drop something. Or everything."

I shoot him an icy glare. He just smirks lazily.

Pam laughs and nods at two plate-loads of scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. "Those are ready."

I put them on the table, sneering pointedly at Zeke, just as the four little people burst into the room, all shouting. They jostle past me like a school of fish, and I escape to the safety of the stove.

"Quiet!" Pam snaps, and they hasten to the table, scraping their chairs loudly against the floorboards. Zeke winces, scowling at them darkly, like they're an alien species he doesn't quite understand.

Clearly, he's not good with kids.

"There's juice in the fridge, Grace," Pam says, catching my attention. "And glasses under the–oh, Jay, perfect. Would you grab some glasses for the juice?"

Jesse slips past me, reaching into the cupboards. I open the fridge door and am appropriately stunned by the size of the juice carton. No kidding, it's about four times the size of the ones we have at home.

I've never _seen _so much juice. It'd probably satiate a Charizard.

"Wow," I say, and Jesse laughs as I haul the monster from the inside of the door. "This thing is massive!"

"Here." He swings it easily from my grasp and carries the lot over to the table. I follow him with another load of plates, and Pam brings the remaining few.

Breakfast is a very loud, very jolly affair. Jesse's brothers and sister have appalling table manners, and the few times I manage to tear my shocked gaze away I catch Zeke staring, horrified. I kick him under the table and he jerks, bashing his knee loudly and glaring furiously at me. I clear my throat pointedly.

He gives the children a disgusted look and proceeds to continue eating his breakfast like he's dining with the queen.

When I manage to work out how to ignore the sounds of food inhalation, I actually really enjoy breakfast with the Applesaps. Pam's a terrific cook; her eggs are amazing.

"Organic," she says proudly, when I compliment her. "You won't get anything fresher anywhere else. That's a promise."

"Mom," Jesse warns, glancing at me in embarrassment. But I think her patriotism is cute. It's sweet how much his parents love their farm, and their work.

"So," Pam says, obediently changing the topic. "Where're you kids from?"

I swallow my mouthful. "Goldenrod City."

This piques everybody's interest.

"Cool!" a couple of the boys exclaim.

"Is it really big?" Hayley asks, tapping her fork against her plate. I try my best to ignore it, though it's grating harshly on my ears. And it's incredibly annoying.

"Huge," I reply. "But I've lived there forever, so it doesn't really seem that big to me."

"It must be an exciting place," Pam comments. "I'll bet you're finding things quiet out here."

"Yeah," Zeke replies smartly. "A little."

I aim for another kick under the table, but hit only air. Thankfully, Pam doesn't pick up on his sarcasm.

"Are you going to Olivine City?" Hayley asks. Jeez, this girl is full of questions!

"Yep," I reply. "There's a ferry there that'll take us to Kanto."

"Why are you going to Kanto?" Hayley immediately asks.

Okay, now we're getting a little personal. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Hayley," Pam scolds. "That's none of your business."

Hayley stares at me openly. It's impossible to know what's going on in that little head of hers. I try to pretend she's not looking at me, and focus instead on steering the conversation away from our journey.

"How long have you owned this farm?"

And the story begins. I settle back in my chair, content with listening to Pam rattle on about great-great-great (great?) Grandpa Josef and his spectacular Rapidash, how he bought the piece of land and expanded it, starting out as a dairy farmer and branching out to all kinds of produce. And then how his son inherited the property, and then his son, and so on.

We're all done eating by the time she's finished.

"Can we be excused?" the eldest ratbag whines, clearly bored.

Pam sighs. "Stack the dishes neatly first."

They leap up from their chairs like this is their only chance to escape, whipping the empty plates from the table faster than I can blink. Then they dump everything in the sink and disappear.

"Thank you for breakfast," I say to Pam. "It really was delicious. And it's so nice to have a home-cooked meal."

"Well, you're more than welcome," she replies with a bright smile.

I glance over at Jesse. I suppose it's time. I can't see any real reason why I shouldn't let him battle El Scorchio – after all, if things turn south, I can always just recall him.

"Where should we–?"

He catches my meaning. "Come on; we'll head out back. There's a practise field we can use."

"Where are you going?" Zeke demands, speaking up for the first time in about half an hour. I glance back at him. He's watching me sharply, suspicious.

"Jesse's going to battle El Scorchio."

"El what?" Jesse asks immediately, incredulous.

I wave my hand. "I didn't name him."

"You're kidding," Zeke says, eyes lighting up. It's the first sign of interest I've seen in his face all morning.

"I'm not," I reply. "We're going to see if we can work out why he doesn't respect me."

"Doesn't take a genius to–"

"Zeke. Shut up. Are you coming or not?" I snap, hands on hips.

He gets up from the table.

X3

The practise arena is a little ways from the barn, and is a dusty expanse of flat land defined by rickety wooden fences. There are no boundaries marked on the earth, like on the professional fields I've seen on TV.

Zeke perches on the sturdiest length of fence he can find, like an oversized Murkrow eagerly awaiting misfortune.

"Nice gloves," he calls, grinning at the heavy-duty workmen's gloves I've borrowed from Jesse. They're comically huge, making me look like I have flippers for hands, and they smell like dirt. But they'll protect my fingers from Pokéball burns, so I'm not complaining.

Zeke sneers. "Sexy."

"Rule number one," I call back shortly. "You don't get to say anything."

He holds his hands up in a truce, but amusement dances in his blue eyes. "I'm just here to watch."

"And mock me when things go amiss," I reply dryly.

He smirks. "You said it, not me."

"That doesn't mean you're allowed to," I shoot back. "So don't, because you're not."

"I can't help that I find your failures entertaining."

"Shut _up, _Zeke. And I'm not even battling, anyway," I add testily, my cheeks warm. I'm about to completely make a fool of myself, and it's even worse that Zeke's already hoping for massive failure. Where's the sibling love and support?

Well, I suppose it's just a practise battle. But still.

"You ready, Grace?" Jesse calls.

"I'm not actually battling, remember?" I repeat, confused.

"You still have to call him out for him to know it's a battle," Zeke interjects.

"Remember the no-talking rule?" I retort hotly. "That was as of two minutes ago."

"Just saying," Zeke replies lightly.

"Well, don't."

"I'm calling out Shepherd," Jesse warns, and turns to the eager Growlithe at his feet. "You ready, pal?"

With an excited growl, Shepherd darts out into the mud.

I fumble with El Scorchio's Pokéball box.

"Any day now," Zeke calls lazily.

"Zeke. I'm warning you," I reply huffily, already flustered.

"Just relax," Jesse calls encouragingly. "There's no rush."

Zeke rolls his eyes. "Getting old over here."

"Ignore him," Jesse advises.

As if I wasn't already trying. But it's good advice, so I'll take it.

At least Jesse realises Zeke's being a jerk. I feel like I'm not alone in this sad, cruel world anymore.

Finally, I get the latch open, and tip the Pokéball into my gloved hand. "Feels nice to actually hold it without it blistering my fingers."

"That's nice," Zeke says sarcastically. "The audience is getting rowdy–they're a pretty impatient bunch."

"Fine!" I snap, glaring at him. "Go–wuah!"

I've lifted my arm to toss the Pokéball, but my grip on it isn't very solid, due to the awkwardness of the gloves. As a result, the Pokéball rolls from my clumsy fingers, and drops in anticlimax to the ground at my feet, bursting open.

Zeke roars with laughter.

El Scorchio looks around with mild interest, taking in the muddy field, the run-down farmyard with the rusting tractor in the corner, the determination burning in the opposing Growlithe's dark eyes.

"Maa."

He yawns and stretches his goopy red neck.

"A Slugma," Jesse says, surprised. "Wow. Where'd you catch it?"

"I didn't. He was a present from my dad," I reply, as El Scorchio turns and begins a slow crawl away from the field. Incidentally, he crawls north, in the only direction unbarred by either me, Zeke, or Jesse and Shepherd.

"Where's he going?" Jesse asks. Shepherd growls at El Scorchio, clearly a challenge of some kind.

El Scorchio ignores him.

"Somewhere," I reply, shrugging. "I never know. I think it's usually just _away_."

"Shepherd," Jesse calls. "Don't let that Slugma escape! Herd it back to the field."

"Grrrowl!" Shepherd replies, and darts forward enthusiastically. He reaches El Scorchio in all of three strides, and prances around him, snapping excitedly at the edges of his gloopy red body. El Scorchio stops in his tracks, staring, unimpressed, at his adversary.

"Ma."

"This is a battle, El Scorchio," I call hopefully. "Don't let that Growlithe beat you!"

He turns and shoots me a withering glare that makes my stomach sink.

"You don't have to battle with me–in fact, I won't interrupt at all, okay?" I'm not sure how to round off my entirely unsuccessful pep talk, so I finish lamely with, "Just… don't lose, all right?"

He keeps glaring.

"You need exercise," I say, trying a different angle of approach. "This'll be fun."

"Maa." He snorts a plume of flame in protest.

"You can't actually hit me from over there," I point out. "Take your anger out on that Growlithe instead."

"Maa."

I'm starting to think this really might mean _no_. But before I can say anything else, El Scorchio decides to prove me wrong. He sucks in a breath of air and shoots a billowing stream of fire towards me.

I squeal, stumbling hastily out of the fireball's path. Scorching heat washes over me as the flames collide with the wooden fence in an explosion of crackling wood.

Jesse stares in shock.

"You're an idiot, Grace," Zeke calls. "In which part of your brain was it a good idea to provoke him? Do you _want_ him to fry you?"

"I was just trying to get him riled up for battle!" I reply, shaken. El Scorchio's attempts at my life are getting a little too close for comfort these days. Today's near brush with cremation has me quaking in my oversized gumboots.

"The fence is on fire," Jesse notes, still stunned.

"Zeke, can't you do something?" I call, watching the flames lick the dilapidated wood. Tendrils of thick, grey-black smoke curl in the air.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see El Scorchio attempt escape number two. Shepherd pounces in front of him, cutting him off and barring his path.

He growls more threateningly this time, the fun gone out of his eyes.

"Rex!" Zeke calls, tossing his Pokéball. Rex appears in a burst of white light, shaking out his leathery little body.

"We need you to put out the fire!" I call.

Rex turns, hisses in delight, and blasts me with a fierce jet of water that knocks me over. I land in the mud with a comical _squelch_, instantly soaked to the bone.

"Hey!" I hear Jesse shout in protest.

"Not now, Rex!" Zeke bellows, choking on his laughter. "The fire's spreading!"

Rex obediently scarpers over to the flaming fence, inhaling deeply and blasting it with an icy jet of water. With an angry hiss and a belch of black smoke, the fire dies, leaving only the thick stench of charred wood lingering in the air.

El Scorchio is ignoring all this, doing his damndest to get around Shepherd, who is taking great delight in bouncing around and blocking him at every turn.

Obviously, he thinks it's all a game.

Jesse strides across the field to where I'm sitting, shivering violently and spluttering water from my nose, and picks up El Scorchio's Pokéball.

"Return."

"A-are you al-allowed to d-do that?" I stammer through my clenched teeth. He leans down and loops his arm around my shoulders, helping me up.

"It worked, didn't it?"

Indeed. Who cares if it's legal? Not me.

"Come on," Jesse says firmly. "We'll try this again later."

"What are you doing?" Zeke demands.

"Getting her inside so she can dry off and warm up," Jesse retorts. "Otherwise she'll get sick."

"Her immune system is perfectly healthy," Zeke replies snarkily. "She'll be fine."

"How would you like to be soaking wet in the cold?" Jesse snaps. He turns away from Zeke, who I'd be happily yelling at right now if opening my mouth didn't risk my tongue getting lanced by my chattering teeth, and speaks to me in an undertone.

"No offense, but your stepbrother's kind of a dick."

I manage a watery grin as we head back to the farmhouse.

X3

"Here."

I look up from where I'm sitting on the couch, wearing a pair of Andy's sweatpants and one of Zeke's sweaters, wrapped in a quilt hand-sewn by Jesse's grandmother. My hair, still wet from my hot shower, is wound into a tiny bun at the back of my head.

Jesse offers me a steaming mug. "Hot chocolate, made with Moomoomilk."

"Thanks, but–"

"Moomoomilk is rich with nutrients," he says firmly. "It'll help, even if you're not sick."

I extend one quilt-wrapped hand obediently. Jesse's clearly not going to back down. "You really didn't have to."

He settles in an armchair, watching me until I take the first sip. Surprised by how delicious it is, I heartily take another. Satisfied, he relaxes.

"I'm guessing the Moomoomilk is produced on the farm, too?"

Jesse nods. "Old Pa Joe would be proud to see how successful his dairy farm became. We've got some of the healthiest Miltank for miles around."

"It must be a lot of work, running a place like this," I comment.

"It's a full-time job," Jesse agrees. "The work never stops. We've got a huge staff."

"Are you going to work here, too?" I ask. "Like, will that be your career?"

Jesse shrugs. "Probably. I've never really considered doing anything else. And it's the family business; as the eldest I'm expected to take over."

I nod thoughtfully, then glance out the window at the grey skies. "Is it always this cold here? It's supposed to be summer."

Jesse follows my gaze. "Yeah, we don't see many summer days. It's usually overcast. Because of the mountain ranges, we get a lot of rainfall. It makes the soil fertile–good for agriculture. But it does mean storms are pretty common."

I frown. "Storms aren't fun."

"But they're handy," Jesse replies. "We harness the lightning for the Mareep. It's good for their wool."

Well, colour me surprised.

Footsteps sound in the hall, and Zeke trudges in. He glances between us, looking surlier than usual.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

He says nothing, throwing himself into an armchair.

Ugh. Whatever. I'm not in the mood for his primadonna tantrums right now.

"I've got some work I have to do," Jesse says, by way of excusing himself. "Will you be alright for a while in here?"

"Sure," I reply. "Sorry about before. We can help you fix your fence."

He waves it off. "It's ancient–every Christmas dad declares he'll fix it, but he never does. He might actually get around to it this time, now that there's a proper excuse."

"Thanks for the hot chocolate."

Jesse smiles and leaves.

The silence is eventually broken by Zeke. "He annoys me."

"I'd noticed," I say sourly. "I don't see what you could possibly have against him. He's a really nice guy."

"Exactly," Zeke replies distastefully. "The guy would save a dying Rattata. It's disgusting."

"Oh, stop it," I snap irritably. "He's a good person, which is more than I can say for you."

"Excuse me?" Zeke demands, eyes flashing. "What's _your _problem?"

"Well, you don't have to be such a jerk all the time," I say coldly. "All you ever do is make fun of my misfortune. I'm getting kind of tired of it."

"Someone has to make light of the situation."

"There's a difference between making light and making fun. And you _don't _make light."

"Get over yourself, Grace," Zeke snaps. "You're no angel, either."

"I never said I was," I reply, offended. "But at least I _try _to be nice. All you've done since we got here is mope about glaring at anything that moves."

"Well, I don't like this place," Zeke retorts petulantly. "I want out. And if it weren't for your ankle, I wouldn't be stuck here in the first place."

"Oh, poor you!" I snap, losing my temper. "I'm so sorry my injury is causing you such inconvenience. By all means, leave! Go without me. I don't care–right now I don't even want to be around you, anyway!"

I get up, the quilt falling from my shoulders. Snatching it up with my free hand, I stomp angrily from the room.

X3

Zeke doesn't leave, which isn't surprising. After all, it's not like he's ever travelled by himself, so I doubt he's that keen to go on alone.

The skies clear up for a small portion of the afternoon, and I join Jesse out in the paddocks, where he and the farmhands are working in the fields. I sit atop a shiny red tractor in the middle of the pasture, watching the proceedings.

Today, Jesse explains, they're sewing crops. Several huge bags of seed are resting against the tractor's wheels.

"We train Diglett," Jesse tells me, hauling himself up to stand on the rim beside me. "They churn up rows of fertile soil for us to sew."

Diglett, huh? "Can I see one?"

"Sure." Jesse turns and calls to one of the workers. "Miles, send us your Diglett for a sec!"

For a few seconds, nothing happens. Then the ground near the tractor rumbles faintly, the earth crumbles next to the giant tyre and a tiny (I mean _miniscule_), round brown head pops up.

"Diglett!"

Oh, my god. It's the _cutest_ _thing_ I've ever seen. "Hey there, cutie pie!"

"Diglett!"

I think it's smiling at me, but it's kind of hard to tell. It seems happy, though, bobbing up and down in its little earth-hole.

"Well, aren't you the sweetest little thing," I coo.

"Darned useful in the fields, too," Jesse adds proudly. "Extremely reliable and hard-working Pokémon."

"What do its feet look like?" I ask curiously. "They must be tiny!"

Jesse shrugs. "No idea. We've never seen them. They always stay partially underground."

Hmm. I wonder if the Diglett would protest if I jumped down and pulled it out of the hole.

Better not, Grace.

"Can I touch it?"

"Don't ask me–I have no idea." Jesse laughs.

I look down at the little Diglett, and feel stupid when I ask, "Can I touch you?"

"Diglett!"

It does its funny little bobbing thing.

"I'm going to assume that's a 'yes'," I warn it, then climb down carefully from the tractor. It doesn't shy away from my fingers, and I carefully rub the top of its smooth, brown head.

It feels like… an acorn. Kind of.

"Aww, I just want to hug you!" I squeal.

"Diglett!" it replies excitedly, bobbing away madly like one of those carnival games on overdrive. I feel like I should be holding a fluffy mallet.

_Smack. Smack._

"Alright," Jesse intervenes. "I think that's enough. Head on back, now, little guy."

The Diglett withdraws into its hole and tunnels away.

I look up at Jesse. "I want a Diglett."

"You'd have to hunt around in a cave," he replies, smiling at my enthusiasm, "Where it's dark and damp and easy to get lost. But Diglett aren't hard to train. It's a good choice for a rookie Trainer."

"Yeah, caves are a no-go," I say, frowning. "Sorry, Diglett. It was good while it lasted."

Jesse laughs, swinging down from the tractor. "Better get back to work."

I watch them sew the crops, pressing handfuls of seed into the freshly churned earth. The Diglett–dozens of them, I see, now that I know how to spot them–pop up every now and then, their happy cries echoing across the huge field. It's amazing watching the neat rows of darkened soil billow up without warning. It's almost like a giant's holding a pen and drawing straight lines in the ground.

Eventually, Jesse returns from the row they're working on. "They'll be alright for the rest of the day. Come on; let's try that battle again."

"Uh, I'm not so su–"

"Avoiding it won't solve anything," Jesse says firmly. "I know he almost killed you last time, but the sooner we get this battle out of the way, the sooner we can work out how to fix the problem. Sometimes, you've just got to bite the bullet."

He's right, unfortunately. There's no way around this. It needs to be done.

I'm just going to have to go out there and risk my life. Again.

I consider going inside to fetch Zeke, but since he's ticked me off, I don't, out of spite.

We return to the dilapidated training field and my stomach churns.

"Really not looking forward to this."

"You'll be right," Jesse says encouragingly. "Just send him out, and leave the rest to me."

"If I die, I'm leaving El Scorchio to you."

"Over your step-brother? I'm touched," Jesse says, pulling a face.

We retreat to opposing ends of the field.

"You ready?"

I nod once, already tense in my gumboots.

"Shepherd, go!"

Shep, whose been trotting around at Jesse's feet all day, eagerly assumes his place on the field.

"El Scorchio!" I call. The gloves are inside, drying from Rex's water attack, so I have to cover my fingers with my sleeve. At least my delivery is more successful this time.

Once again, El Scorchio takes to the field.

"Ma." He seems displeased to be back here.

"No hesitating this time, Shep," Jesse calls, all serious. "Let's start this off with a Bite attack!"

"Grrowl!" Shepherd streaks forward, a flash of burnt orange and black, sinking his sharp teeth into El Scorchio's goopy skin and tearing at him fiercely.

"Maaa!"

I can't help it; I flinch as El Scorchio winces, writhing in pain as he tries to loosen Shepherd's grip.

"Stop!"

"No, Grace," Jesse calls back. "He's not suffering. Just hold on for a few more minutes, and you'll see."

I bite my lip, swallowing my protests, but it's so hard just standing by and watching him get hurt.

No matter how many times he's tried to incinerate me, he's still my Pokémon, and I still care about him.

"Shep, Ember!"

Without warning, Shepherd releases El Scorchio, darting out of harm's reach to suck in a deep breath, expelling it in the form of a hot blast of crackling fire. The flames encircle El Scorchio, licking at his sluggish body.

"Jesse!" I call, panicky. "Call him off!"

"Hold on. Just a bit more."

"No, I mean it–"

"Maaa!"

An impressive blaze of flame erupts from El Scorchio's mouth, blasting Shepherd squarely in the face. When the flames curl in on themselves, disintegrating, El Scorchio becomes visible, his little body trembling from the exertion.

Shepherd looks like he's reeling from the blow.

Jesse and I are stunned.

"I don't know what moves your Slugma has been taught," Jesse says finally, breaking the silence. "But he's got a mean Ember attack."

"I don't even know what that _was_," I reply, astonished. "But I've seen his Ember–and I don't think that was it. I didn't teach him that move."

"I don't think it was Lava Plume," Jesse says thoughtfully. "And it wasn't strong enough to be a Flamethrower or Fire Blast." He smiles, a challenge flashing in his eyes. "Well, whatever it was, don't let it get you down, Shep. Let's show him who's boss! Retaliate with Take Down!"

Shepherd quickly recovers from his surprise, gathering himself and throwing his full weight behind a rough tackle that knocks El Scorchio to the ground.

El Scorchio seems to suffer the blow from the hit more than the collision with the ground, even though Shep grinds him into the mud. Most of the force behind the tackle is diffused when he spreads his goopy body thin, splattering against the earth like a blob of goo.

Shepherd bounces back, regaining his footing. El Scorchio pulls his squidgy body up from the mud.

Neither looks particularly disgruntled.

"He's at an advantage," Jesse comments, crossing his arms. "Physical attacks aren't very effective when he can just mold his body to lessen the damage of the blow."

Wow. Talk about expecting the unexpected. Clearly, El Scorchio can take care of himself. I look upon him with newfound admiration.

I'm sorry I ever underestimated you, little guy.

"Let's try this again, Shep," Jesse calls. "Try to get at his neck with a Bite attack!"

"Grrowl!" Shepherd looks as up to the challenge as his Trainer. El Scorchio keeps a wary eye trained on him as he darts forward, snarling in preparation for his fierce attack. But it's clear speed is not his strong suit; he attempts to dodge, but Shepherd's much faster. Before El Scorchio can move aside, the Growlithe has his muzzle clamped around his neck.

"Good work, Shep!" Jesse calls. "Whatever you do, don't let go!"

I watch on as the two Pokémon struggle. It's a painfully tiresome process, and my heart sort of bleeds for poor El Scorchio as he wriggles in vain. I don't like watching him suffer.

Eventually, Shepherd's solid jaw proves too much, and El Scorchio slackens in his grasp.

Shepherd releases his hold and steps back, puffing his chest out proudly and looking to Jesse for praise.

"Good work, boy," Jesse says, crossing the field to where El Scorchio's lying in the mud. He ruffles Shepherd's head. "You battled well."

"Grrowl." Shepherd gives his fingers an affectionate lick.

"Grace," Jesse calls. "Head over."

I approach the disaster zone with caution, expecting El Scorchio to whip up and turn on me at any second, since it's completely my fault he's in his current state.

"I'm not sure this is such a good idea…"

"He needs to see that you care," Jesse says firmly. "Bend down beside him."

"He'll burn me!"

"He's too weak to burn _anything _right now," Jesse assures me. "Trust me, it'll be okay."

Taking a shaky breath, I obediently get down on my haunches next to his battered red body. I look at the bruising on his neck and my eyes swim.

"I'm sorry, buddy."

El Scorchio opens one yellow eye and gives me a look of pure loathing. "Maa."

"It was for your own good," I say, brushing at my eyes. He'll see it as a sign of weakness, and I'm getting strong vibes from him that suggest he's not one to tolerate weakness.

He snorts a tendril of smoke in protest as I reach my fingers toward him.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"Maa."

"Don't touch him, Grace," Jesse warns. "He'll probably burn you."

I retract my hand. "So this has been a fruitless experiment?"

"Not at all," Jesse replies. "Right now, he's defeated, and you're still standing. There's no way he can deny his inferiority to you in his present condition."

"I don't _want _to be superior to him," I say sadly. "I want to be his friend."

"I don't think that's possible right now," Jesse says. "I think he needs that definite distinction. He needs to respect you before you can be equals. And having him rely on you when he's weakened is a good way to start."

It makes sense, but I'm not happy about it.

"I'm going to Return you, okay?" I say.

He ignores me.

"Shep," Jesse commands.

Shepherd trots away and returns with El Scorchio's Pokéball, which he drops in the mud at my feet. I pick it up.

"Return."

Even though I know within seconds, it's going to burn my fingers, I keep a hold on the Pokéball. To my surprise, it warms quickly, but never quite reaches unbearable.

"It's not burning me!"

Jesse frowns. "I wouldn't pin that on trust just yet. I'd say he's too weak to rebel any more than that."

Oh. Well, in that case, it doesn't actually make me happy that he's not burning me. It seems to me that El Scorchio's dignity has been stripped, and I feel bad for him. Seeing him like this is unbearable, considering he's such a proud little guy.

Poor thing–it's almost like we all ganged up on him.

"It wasn't a fair fight," I realise unhappily.

"Of course it wasn't," Jesse agrees. "He was without a Trainer. And it looks like he hasn't practised in a long time. But, honestly, he battled well without one. He's an impressive fighter."

No amount of praise will erase my guilt, though.

And as we return to the house in the late afternoon light, I can't help feeling like I've massively let my Pokémon down.


	10. The Ninth Chapter!

**A/N:** Later in the chapter, Grace makes reference to the 'Route 111 desert'. She's referring to the desert terrain in Hoenn, which is on Route 111. (What a surprise… :P). Just clearing up any confusion.

* * *

**~ Nine ~**

**Of ****New**** Friends and Dense Forests**

* * *

"Thank you so much for having us. You've been so generous."

Pam waves off my gratitude with one hand. "We've been glad to have you. It's a shame you're leaving so soon."

I smile, sort of regretfully. "As much as we've loved it here–" I kick Zeke's ankle subtly as I sense him about to say something snide or sarcastic. Or both "–we really should be getting on our way."

"Well, you're always welcome here, remember that," Pam says. "I just wish Richard could be here to see you off, too. He told me to pass on his goodbyes, though."

We've hardly seen Jesse's dad in the two days since we crashed their barn. He was out almost all day, every day, doing vet calls to neighbouring farms and villages.

"Please pass on my sincerest gratitude to him, too," I say. "If it weren't for him, my ankle would still be causing me trouble."

"I'll be sure to. Oh!–before I forget." Pam disappears for a moment, re-emerging from the house with plastic containers filled with food. "Take these with you."

My eyes widen. "Pam–"

"Don't give me that," she says in a no-nonsense voice. "You'll need solid meals on the leg between here and Olivine City. It's no walk in the park."

"Thank you," I say, unable to believe she'd go to this much trouble for a couple of strangers. She dumps the containers in my arms and I turn to Zeke. "Open your pack."

"Why am I carrying them all?" he demands indignantly.

"Just do it."

We tuck the treasure away safely, and Zeke hauls his pack back onto his shoulders, muttering under his breath. "Tough guy over here could have used some more padding."

"Okay," Jesse says, ignoring Zeke. "Ready?"

I grin at him. "Ready, Freddy."

Zeke groans. "You people make me sick."

After much discussion this morning, inspired largely by reluctance (on my part) to part ways with our new friend, we'd – and here again, I use 'we' as loosely synonymous for 'I' – decided Jesse would accompany us to Olivine City, acting as a kind of guide.

It works out well for everyone; Zeke and I have less chance of getting lost and dying in the wilderness, and Jesse gets to visit the beach, something he confessed he had a desire to do.

Win-win!

So, with our travelling home back on our shoulders, and newfound company along for the ride, we set off from Applesap Farm, hitting the still-damp dirt road, our (well, at least _my_) spirits high.

X3

"Lunch time," Zeke declares.

Jesse breaks off mid-sentence, and we look around in surprise.

"It's only eleven o'clock," I say, examining my purple gel watch in confusion.

"So?" Zeke retorts. "I'm hungry. We're taking a break."

"We really should make as much progress as we can," Jesse says, not unreasonably. "It's a long way to Olivine. Unless you're dying of starvation, we should push on for a few more hours at least."

"I said I'm hungry," Zeke repeats flatly, dumping his pack. He throws himself down next to it while I watch on incredulously.

"Zeke–"

"If you've got a problem, Grace, keep it to yourself."

Ouch. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.

"Fine," I snap, turning apologetically to Jesse. "Sorry. Looks like we're taking a break."

He shrugs easily, slipping the pack from his shoulders. "No problem. Shep doesn't like being in his Pokéball much; he'll be grateful for the chance to stretch his legs."

This time, I'm ready when Zeke lets Rex out, quickly dodging the blast of water he happily aims at my face.

"Ha!" I exclaim triumphantly, poking out my tongue in victory. Rex hisses indignantly, then sucks in an unnecessarily huge breath, which means he's about to absolutely _pummel_ me with a Water Gun.

"No!" Zeke and Jesse bellow simultaneously, but Rex has already let loose the cannon of water and it hits me squarely in the chest, catapulting me off my feet and into the fence, which groans under the pressure and snaps loudly. I tumble backwards into the field, scraping my cheek on something sharp.

When the assault stops, I just lie there, dazed.

"REX!" Zeke bellows, and this time, he's not amused.

"How can you possibly let him do that?" Jesse's voice demands, enraged. "That thing of yours is a dangerous menace! He could have killed her!"

"Her own Pokémon nearly kills her on a daily basis," Zeke sneers scornfully. "And I didn't _let_ him do that."

"Obviously he's normally allowed to be reckless, otherwise he wouldn't find it so funny right now," Jesse argues. Over their squabbling voices I can hear Rex's hissing laughter.

"Rex, get back in your Pokéball," Zeke finally snaps.

Footsteps crash through the grass, and Jesse's face appears above mine, etched into a frown of anxious concern. "Are you okay?"

"I've been better," I moan. But I push myself up nonetheless. Oh, god – killer headache. And my neck hates me.

"Sit still for a second," Jesse advises. "I'll go get some painkillers."

"No, no. I'll be right after a bit – I just need to recover. I'm used to it."

Jesse shakes his head in disbelief. "Unbelievable. It's atrocious how he lets it misbehave so much."

"Rex is like Zeke – the spoiled only Pokémon of a wealthy only child," I explain. "It kind of goes without saying."

"It doesn't make it okay, though," Jesse argues. He stares at my dripping hair and sighs. "I'll get you a towel."

He carefully helps me back to the path, which I'm mighty grateful for, because my head is spinning something shocking. I'm not even in the right mind to be able to glare at Zeke, who's watching wordlessly, an unusually guilty sort of expression on his face.

"Grace–"

"Shut up," Jesse says shortly, "And do something useful. Get a fire going so we can heat up some soup for her."

Zeke stalks off stiffly.

Jesse wraps a dry towel around my shoulders and carefully cleans away the blood from my cheek. It stings to the touch and I wince, jerking my face away reflexively.

"Sorry," he says quickly, his mouth pulled into a tight frown. "Almost done."

He carefully bandages the laceration and puts away the first-aid kit.

Then he looks around for Zeke.

I watch his eyes narrow, imagining the insult curling to the tip of his tongue, and, to prevent further conflict between them, say quickly, "I'll go find him."

"No," Jesse protests, as I get up. "You should sit–"

"I'm okay. And it'll be better if I talk to him. Keep an eye on the soup, okay?"

I shove my hands in my pockets, nodding at him firmly as I back away from our makeshift camp. He's obviously unhappy with the proceedings, but he says nothing.

I find Zeke sitting on a log a short adventure from the road, tossing pebbles into a small, trickling stream.

"Hey."

He doesn't look around.

"Are you coming up for lunch?" I ask, and when he still doesn't reply, add, "You're the hungry one, after all."

Finally, I get annoyed with his sulking. "Look, I don't know what your problem is. It's not like you were the one who got smashed into a fence and drenched to the bone – _again_. Stop sulking like a brat and pull yourself together."

I turn to stomp away, but his voice whips unexpectedly across the field. "I told him not to."

I process this for a moment. "I know. I heard you."

Is that meant to be Zeke-language for 'I'm sorry'?

If so, I don't think I accept his apology. Sorry, pal. No dice.

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look dead?" I retort shortly, then force myself to soften a bit. He actually does sound a little remorseful, which is major progress for Zeke.

I turn around reluctantly. "Don't beat yourself up about it. It was an accident."

Kind of.

"Rex didn't mean it, you know."

I raise one eyebrow. "I can't vouch for him."

"He's just playing," Zeke presses. He tosses another stone into the water with unnecessary ferocity.

I roll my eyes. "It's never seemed like a game to me."

He doesn't look up from the crystal water. It bubbles away quietly over the smooth, flat rocks.

I break the silence. "Well, I'm freezing, and I actually am hungry now, so I'm going to get some food. We do need to keep moving, though, so don't mope about too long."

"I'm not moping," he mutters childishly.

Yep. Sure. "Whatever, Zeke-o-zoid."

"Don't call me that."

I walk a little ways further, then another thought hits me. "I'd appreciate it if you two didn't antagonise each other so much. Jesse's coming with us whether you like it or not, and this trip is sucking enough without you two hating on each other all the time."

"I can't make any promises," he says petulantly. "The guys rubs me the wrong way."

Too bad, Zeke.

"Well, it'd be awesome if we could all make it to Olivine in one piece," I reply. "So if you could take it into consideration, that'd be fantastic."

For once, he doesn't shoot back at my sarcasm. He doesn't say anything at all.

I head back to the road, making excuses for Zeke when Jesse looks up expectantly. He re-joins us eventually, and we dine in complete silence.

But I catch them shooting each other dark glares over the pot of soup when they think I'm not looking, and I sigh inwardly.

This is going to be a long, difficult journey.

X3

By nightfall, we've reached a dense pine forest.

"Great," I groan. "More spooky woods."

I tell Jesse the Stantler story as we set up camp in a clearing on the edge of the trees. We erect the tents – mine and Zeke's, and Jesse's little swag – and collect firewood. While we chat away over dinner preparations, Zeke sits off by himself, his nose buried in a novel I didn't even know he'd packed.

Zeke's never struck me as a book worm.

Dinner is a delicious stew of Pam's – potato, carrot, peas and tender Mareep meat. We wash up in a nearby stream.

"Let's play a game," Jesse says, handing me a plastic bowl.

"What kind of game?"

"A knowledge game."

"Like trivia?" I ask hesitantly. "I suck at trivia."

Jesse laughs. "No, a game where you learn stuff."

"Like twenty questions?"

He grins. "Sounds fun, right?"

"Sure," I reply, drying the bowl. "You go first."

"Rules first," he says. "We both have to answer the same questions. Makes it more interesting."

I shrug. "Okay. I'm down with that. Ask away."

"Alright." He puts down the sponge. "Let's start with something easy. Like… what's your favourite colour?"

I raise my eyebrow. "That _is _easy. Fine. Um… green."

"Green?"

"Or purple," I add, thinking about it.

"You only get one," he says.

"Fine. I'll stick with green."

"Why?"

"Does that count as a question?"

"I'm going to say no. It's an extension of a question, therefore it doesn't count."

"Okay. In that case, I like green because it brings out my eyes," I say, fluttering my eyelashes dramatically.

He laughs.

"What's yours?" I ask.

"Blue," he replies. "Something about it makes me calm."

"Well, it _is _the colour of serenity," I reply knowledgably.

He gives me a funny look of surprise, and my cheeks warm. "What? I like my horoscopes and stuff."

"I'm not judging you."

"If anyone cares," Zeke interrupts flatly, startling the living daylights out of me, "my favourite colour's black. And everything's packed up."

"Black isn't a colour," I reply, pulling a face. "It's a shade."

"Whatever," he says dismissively, and walks away.

"Next question," Jesse says. "What's your favourite food?"

"Too broad," I complain. "Do you mean favourite cuisine – like Italian or Chinese? Or favourite meal?"

"If you could eat anything right now, what would it be?" he amends.

"Cake," I reply instantly.

"Cake?" he deadpans.

"Not judging, remember?" I point out.

Jesse grins. "Not judging. Mine is lasagne."

"A classic," I agree.

"Nothing beats a good, home-made lasagne," Jesse replies.

"Home-cooked meals in general tend to be winners."

I stand from the stream, the chore completed, and wipe my hands on my jeans. "I've got a question."

"Go ahead," Jesse replies, stacking the dry dishes.

"What's your favourite Type of Pokémon?"

"Fire," Jesse says instantly. "They're powerful, reliable, and loyal. Yours?"

"Uh… cute ones?" I offer sheepishly.

He laughs. "Anything you can hug, right?"

"That's pretty much the defining factor," I agree amiably. "But honestly, I haven't ever really thought about it that much. They're all unique, and it's not like I've really had enough to do with Pokémon yet."

"You're pretty new to Pokémon, aren't you?" Jesse speculates.

My cheeks warm. "Is this a separate question?"

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," he adds hastily. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay," I reply with a sigh. "I'm a total Pokémon noob. Up until a couple of weeks ago, I didn't have anything to do with them. Ever."

"Just never crossed paths?" Jesse guesses.

I shake my head. "My dad's not a Pokémon person. I never pushed the boundaries. I was an obedient little girl."

He smiles. "It's unfortunate that your first Pokémon is one that happens to have a particularly difficult nature."

"You're telling me. It's kind of putting me off the whole Pokémon thing. Just a little bit. Especially since I don't like battling, and all."

"Stick it out," Jesse advises. "It'll get better. You'll see."

I'm doubtful. "I suppose."

But I'd like to believe him, so I let his optimism infect me.

At least for the rest of the night.

X3

"Question four," Jesse says, as we trample through the undergrowth. Light filters down through the canopy of trees, dappling the grassy path. "What's your favourite season?"

Several particularly determined raindrops patter against my japara hood, somehow fighting their way through the almost impenetrable treetop roof. "Definitely not winter."

He laughs.

Up ahead, Zeke walks alone, reminding me somehow of an outlaw. He's got a sturdy stick in his hand, and is doing an admirable job of pretending Jesse and I aren't here.

"I think fall is my favourite," I decide. "It's not too hot, not too cold, and the leaves are stunning. But I also love summer."

"Summer's my favourite," Jesse agrees. "Probably only because we rarely experience it. I think it's a case of the whole 'grass-is-greener' thing."

I nod. "Makes sense. I used to think winter would be amazing because of the snow. It never snows in Goldenrod City. But one day, I went with dad to the mountains, and it was awful – it was wet, and cold, and blizzardy, and I hated it. I was so disappointed."

"Crushed your dreams, eh?" Jesse laughs.

I laugh, too. He's not wrong, though. "Kind of, actually."

We march on for a few minutes. The ground is mossy and slippery underfoot; I have to be careful to watch where I step.

"I have another question," I pipe up eventually. "What was school like for you?"

"Well," Jesse begins. "There's an elementary school in the nearest village, but no high school. The nearest one was an hour and a half away by intermittent bus. So I was home-schooled after sixth grade."

Well that was unexpected. "No kidding."

He shrugs. "Dad was a pretty good teacher, actually. He loves history and geography. And biology, of course."

I nod. But it hits me that Jesse probably didn't have a lot of friends growing up, if he spent all his time at the farm.

I relish in this small similarity we share.

"I'll confess, though," Jesse adds, "I never finished junior year."

I look at him, surprised. "Why not?"

He shrugs. "Didn't need to. You don't exactly need a solid education to work on a farm."

For some reason, I find this kind of sad – like he's going to spend his whole life in his little farmyard corner of the world, and never experience any of the other wonders it has to offer. To me, that's not really _living. _

But who am I to judge?

I walk on for a bit, lost in my thoughts.

"What about you?" Jesse asks. "What was your high school like?"

I laugh shortly. "I don't know. I didn't even go to the first day."

He glances at me with wide eyes. "You dropped out?"

"Not quite," I reply. "I was pulled out by my dad, right before semester began. He claims I'll go back next year, but…" I shrug. "Anyway, here I am today."

I grin at his astonished expression. "You thought I was older, huh?"

Jesse reddens. "I'm a little surprised," he confesses. "I thought you were at least a sophomore."

"I'll take it as a compliment," I assure him, patting his arm. "Don't feel too embarrassed."

Zeke chooses now to add his snarky two bits' worth over his shoulder. "Funny how young she is, isn't it?"

Jesse wisely opts not to reply.

"The high school I was enrolled in," I continue, "is really fancy, though. It's an extension of my middle school, which was this really prestigious and competitive all-girls 'institution of excellence'." I snort distastefully. "I hated it. The girls were really snobby and bratty."

"She only hated it because she had no friends," Zeke calls nastily over his shoulder.

Yes, thanks for that, jerk.

I blush furiously.

"I didn't want to be friends with people like them, anyway," I retort. "They were all superficial and mean."

"Sounds like a great place," Jesse remarks sarcastically.

I roll my eyes. "Oh yeah. Wonderful – if you're willing to sacrifice the freedom of individuality. And your conscience."

The forest gets thicker and thicker, until we're forced to walk single file through the dense trees. The moss grows thicker underfoot, and several times I trip, almost taking Jesse down with me. We climb over massive boulders and under decaying, fallen logs, sometimes getting hooked on low-hanging branches that claw at our faces.

It's a real challenge, especially considering the whole route is a gradual uphill climb, and my pack is trying very hard to pull me the other way.

Clearly, it's on good terms with gravity, and obviously they're conspiring against me.

We stop for a late lunch – late because we have absolutely no sense of time in the eternal dimness of the forest, and end up completely missing midday – and rest on a mossy, damp log.

I'm so thankful for my waterproof japara and pants.

Seriously. Who cares about fashion when you're wandering in the death-trap wilderness?

"I'm so tired," I complain. "And I'm sick of this stupid uphill hike."

"Well, it's not going to flatten out any time soon," Zeke replies. "So you may as well get used to it."

"It's already three o'clock," Jesse comments, concerned. "I'm worried about where we're going to camp tonight."

"We'll just have to make do," I reply unhappily. "Even if we have to sleep on a slope."

"Better than sleeping out in this," Zeke mutters, shuddering almost imperceptively as he glances warily around. The trees are tall and extremely dense, spreading away in all directions as far as the eye can see. It gives the forest the feeling of eternity, which is kind of frightening.

And Zeke's right, for once. This place is damn spooky. It doesn't help that the slow, ever-present tendrils of white fog misting between the treetops remind me of the Stantler attack.

"Come on," Jesse says, his voice low and serious. "Let's keep moving."

Conversation is rare as the darkness gradually settles in. We hike as far as we can before nightfall forces us to stop, and we struggle to find enough room to put up the tents.

We get them up eventually, and no-one even cracks a joke about how lopsided and awkward they look, mashed between the trees.

None of us are hungry after our late meal, so we part ways for the evening and retreat to the flimsy safety of our tents. The temperature drops sharply, and it takes three sweaters and two pairs of sweatpants before I can warm up enough in my sleeping bag to drift into uneasy sleep.

For once, I'm grateful for Zeke's gentle snoring. I don't think I'd have gotten through the night alone.

X3

I'm awake at first light, and I waste no time getting up and starting breakfast.

Jesse's already up and about when I struggle from the tent, and he greets me with a tight-lipped smile. Clearly, I'm not the only one feeling the tension.

We poach eggs in a tin pan over the fire, and the smells and sounds rouse Zeke. We breakfast in silence, pack up efficiently, and push on.

By the end of the day, I'm utterly exhausted. We deliberately took fewer breaks to maximise the amount of distance we could cover, and as a result my calves and thighs are shuddering with overexertion.

I think I can honestly say I've never walked so far in one day.

I'm _dreading_ tomorrow.

In a strange way, it feels like time passed both quickly and slowly today. Nobody spoke at all, and the terrain barely changed, so it doesn't seem like we've actually made any progress at all. At the same time, my body feels like it's walked across half the country.

It's extremely disconcerting, and insanely frustrating.

And it majorly sucks that we're stuck in this stupid forest another night.

X3

In the middle of the night, we experience the most exciting thing to happen in two days.

For starters, I awaken suddenly from sleep, for apparently no good reason. The night is still and silent around me, which is creepy as hell, and my breath fogs inside the tent.

Which means it's _damn cold. _

I lie frozen for some reason, like my brain is instinctively aware of danger, though there's absolutely nothing to suggest something bad's about to happen.

Then there's a noise. Barely perceptive, but I catch it.

A quiet kind of shuffle, just once.

Every muscle in my body stiffens. Including my tongue, which I eventually successfully unstick from the roof my mouth.

I've just managed to convince myself my brain is playing tricks on me in my paranoia, and am on the verge of rearranging my sleeping bag and attempting sleep again, when a series of snuffling noises ring sharply in the night, close by. _Very_ close by.

I scream.

Zeke's awake in an instant. "What? What?"

I'm sitting bolt upright now, and whatever it is I heard is now making alarmed noises.

"There'ssomethinginthetent!"

"What? Grace – you're making no sen–"

"THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE TENT!"

"_What_?"

I'm shrieking and wailing like a madwoman, but my conviction is even stronger now that I can make out a shadowy thing in the corner, near Zeke's feet.

I'm absolutely petrified with fear.

"Get it out!" I scream. "Get it out! Get it out, get it out, _get it out_!"

"Grace, stop screaming!" Zeke bellows, rummaging around loudly. The thing yelps again, and – holy mother of god, now it's moving.

"It's moving! Zeke, _it's moving_!"

I'm sobbing uncontrollably, kicking my feet in terror as the shadow scarpers over to my side of the tent. I think I'm about to scream myself silly. Any second now, the terror's going to seize my brain and I'm going to pass out, like I did in the Stantler forest.

Already the fingers of dizziness are curling around the edges of my consciousness.

"Grace, _calm down_!" Zeke cries desperately.

A flashlight blinds the tent, and through my tears I make out the brown body and round-eared head of a small, bear-like Pokémon at my feet.

I scream into its face.

It screams right back.

Jesse's voice is shouting outside, but in my current state I have absolutely no idea what he's saying. It's like I don't understand my own language anymore.

Zeke manages to chase the thing outside somehow. The sounds of a skirmish follow, and for a few minutes, all I can hear is footsteps crashing through the undergrowth, voices shouting, Shepherd's protective growls, and the mangled cries of the alarmed infiltrator.

Then there's silence.

Jesse suddenly scrambles into the tent. "Grace!"

He crawls over to where I'm still rigid with terror, and pushes the hair from my face with gentle fingers. "You're okay – you're safe now. Relax."

Several stubborn strands have stuck to the rivers of tears that have dried on my cheeks. He brushes at them carefully. "Zeke caught it. It can't hurt you. It's gone."

I find my voice – it's thin and watery. "Zeke _caught _it?"

Jesse nods. "Yep."

I sigh, long and tired, the tension slowly releasing from my muscles. Jesse, sensing the panic flooding from the atmosphere, sits back and reaches out to give my hair a soft ruffle.

Behind him, Zeke's furious face appears through the tent flap. "Get out of the tent, Applesap!"

I glance at him, indignant. "Zeke!"

"I mean it!" he growls. "Out – now! This is _our _tent – you have _no_ right to be in here!"

"Zeke, stop it–"

"No, it's fine," Jess interrupts gently, glancing at Zeke, who's seething. "He's right – this is an invasion of privacy."

"Damn right it is!" Zeke snaps.

"I don't mind, really," I say apologetically. Seriously. What crawled into Zeke's heart and died? Jesse's only being nice.

"No, no," Jesse replies, smiling at me reassuringly. He crawls backwards toward the tent flap.

"Jess," I say, before he disappears. He pauses for a moment. I give him a weak smile."Thanks."

He smiles back. "'Night, Grace."

There's a few moments' silence after he leaves before Zeke whips open the flap and stomp-crawls in, zipping it tightly shut furiously.

"Zeke…"

He says nothing, pointedly ignoring me.

Well. What the heck did _I _do wrong?

Oh, whatever.

"I hope it's nearly dawn; there's no way I'm getting back to sleep tonight."

"It's only two o'clock," Zeke snaps, sort of smugly, like this brings him personal satisfaction. Tool.

I heave a huge sigh. "Fabulous."

Thick silence fills the tent.

I decide to try once more. "So, you caught that thing, huh?"

"Yep," Zeke says shortly.

Fine. If he doesn't want to talk, I won't push him. Moody buttface.

I roll over in my sleeping bag, pretending he's not there and fuming into my pillow. But it's not until his soft snores resume that I'm able to fall asleep again.

X3

"Ursa!"

We stare down at it, all three of us silent.

The little Pokémon stares back with inoffensive black eyes, as round as its enormous brown ears. It sniffs the air tentatively with its stubby little nose, the oversized crescent-moon shaped mark on its forehead glowing faintly.

"Ursa!"

Without warning, it rocks up onto its hind paws and sniffs again, closing its eyes.

"Tell me again why you caught it," I say dubiously. In the bright dawn of morning, I'm feeling pretty silly about being so terrified of this thing last night. It's not exactly the scariest Pokémon I've ever seen.

Beside me, Zeke cocks his head to one side, as if he's not quite sure himself. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Guess I wasn't really thinking ahead."

"What are you going to do with it?" I ask skeptically.

He shrugs. "Bring it along."

"Do you even know what it is?" Jesse asks, the lightest trace of a sneer in his voice.

"Of course I know what it is," Zeke scoffs scornfully. "It's a Pokémon."

"It's a _Teddiursa,_" Jesse corrects smugly.

Zeke rolls his eyes. "Duh."

"It's kind of cute," I comment, watching the Teddiursa lick its paw. Before either of the other two can protest, I get down on my knees before it. It looks around sharply, eyeing me warily.

"Hey there, little gu–ow!"

"Grace!" Zeke and Jesse exclaim in unison.

I reflexively retract my arm from my attempt to pat it, nursing it gingerly and bestowing upon the Teddiursa a wounded look of confusion. "It scratched me!"

"Well, of course it did, doofus," Zeke snaps impatiently. "It's not domesticated yet. Just because it's captured doesn't automatically make it friendly – it's still technically a wild Pokémon."

"Here," Jesse says. "Let me clean the wound."

I plonk myself on a tree stump away from the Teddiursa and let him fiddle with the three long gashes running almost the full length of forearm, shooting the tiny bear Pokémon intermittent offended looks.

"He got you good, didn't he?" Jesse comments, brushing the scratches lightly with gentle fingertips.

I try not to flinch. "I don't understand – I wasn't going to hurt him."

"He doesn't know that," Jesse points out. "For all he knew, you were about to pounce on him and throw him in a pot over the fire."

I raise one eyebrow. "Nursery rhyme, much?"

Jesse grins boyishly. "I was inspired by _Hansel and Gretel._"

"How do you know it's a boy Teddiursa, anyway?" I ask. "I think it looks kind of like a girl."

"No, it's definitely a boy," Jesse argues firmly. "I'm getting some serious male juju."

"Do you even believe in juju?" I ask skeptically.

He grins. "Not really."

He wraps my arm in gauze and dusts imaginary dirt from his hands. "Done."

I bat my eyelashes at him. "Thank you, doctor."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "Just don't do it again."

Noise from the campsite distracts me, and I look around Jesse's shoulder. Zeke has called Rex out, and the water dinosaur is examining Teddiursa curiously.

Teddiursa is on the defence, his muscles tensed up, his short fur bristled. He keeps a wary eye trained sharply on Rex as he scarpers in a circle around him.

Then Rex snaps his jaws once, and shoots a jet of water straight into Teddiursa's face.

I wince sympathetically.

"Ursa!" Teddiursa shouts indignantly, and, with unexpected agility, breaks free of the water barrage and leaps at Rex, lashing at him with swiping paws.

A fierce, fast-paced battle ensues.

"Zeke, what the hell did you do?" I snap, horrified, as the two Pokémon rip at each other.

Zeke looks mystified. "Nothing… I just wanted to see how Rex'd react…"

"What are they doing?" I wail, as Teddiursa manages to claw Rex's hide, drawing blood. Rex whips around sharply, clamping his solid jaw down on the little bear-Pokémon's shoulder in retaliation.

Oh, god. Their anguished cries are more than I can bear.

"Stop them!" I shriek. "Zeke, recall them! Hurry!"

"Rex!" Zeke shouts. "Enough!"

They ignore him.

"Zeke!" I push shrilly.

"Guys, stop it!" he bellows, to absolutely no response. His calls are falling on deaf ears. Finally, he growls, reaching into his pocket for their Pokéballs. "Rex! Uh… bear-thing! Return!"

The sounds of their cutthroat squabbling echoes through the trees long after they've disappeared.

Zeke and I stare at each other.

"What the hell just happened?" I demand, shaken.

We look to Jesse, who up 'til now has been our unofficial, walking Pokénoob encyclopaedia.

But this time he looks just as astonished, and sort of half-shrugs apologetically.

I have absolutely no idea what to say to Zeke.

So I don't say anything.

"Come on," Jess says eventually. "Let's keep moving. Just keep them in their Pokéballs for now."

X3

The slope is getting steeper and steeper, and I'm starting to spot patches of frost on the moss-covered earth.

This is not a good sign.

We stop for lunch, short of breath and flushed of cheek, and drop our packs. My breath billows like a cloud of steam from my lips.

"You should put another layer on, Grace," Jess advises, rummaging in his bag for some food.

"But I'm not cold," I reply.

Far from it, actually. The constant exercise means despite the chilly temperature, my skin is sticky and sweaty under my japara.

It's pretty gross.

"You're not cold now," Jesse says, "because you're exercising. You're just tricking your body into thinking it's hot. But the moment we stop, you'll freeze."

I seriously doubt it. I feel like the damn Route 111 desert right now.

I'm willing to prove him wrong in this particular, rare instance.

I pretend I didn't hear him.

"Shep!" Jess calls, and a second later the Growlithe is shaking out its fluffy vanilla mane.

We get a fire going – thanks to our reliable source of ignition (aka: Shepherd) – and heat up the last of Pam's soup, which, while delicious, I'm admittedly getting a little sick of.

I don the pair of heavy-duty gloves I borrowed from Applesap Farm and release El Scorchio.

He stretches his neck, snorts fire from his nose in a silent _BACK-OFF_ warning to anyone who might have considered approaching him, and resumes his slow getaway, which doesn't alarm me today, since the clustered trees and logs provide an obstacle course that will make his escape even slower than usual.

But I'm a little happy – he's looking better than he did the past few days. His vengeful spark is gradually returning; each time I bring him out for a meal he looks slightly more hateful than before, which I take as a positive sign of his recovery.

I empty a small amount of home-made Pokémon food produced on Applesap Farm into a bowl and, with a groan, haul myself up from the slick rock I'm perching on.

"Here," I say, catching him up and quickly dropping the bowl nearby. Several bite-sized pieces bounce out onto the moss. "Lunch, if you want it."

I scuttle away before he can set my precious japara on fire.

Zeke and Jess are locked in discussion when I get back to the pit stop.

"I wouldn't," Jesse's saying seriously. Zeke appears to sneer at this.

"What's going on, guys?" I interrupt lightly, sliding my hands in my pockets.

Jesse glances at Zeke.

Zeke glares under his lashes when he looks away.

"We're just debating the best method for Zeke to feed his Pokémon," Jesse explains, with deliberate eloquence.

"I see," I say, plonking myself back down on my rock. "What's the verdict?"

"Jury's still out," Zeke replies shortly.

"I think he should feed them on opposite sides of the clearing," Jesse says, stirring his bowl of steaming soup.

"Won't they just attack each other when they're done?" I ask doubtfully.

"That's the problem, genius," Zeke snaps.

"So feed them individually, _genius_," I retort sassily.

"We don't have that much time, _genius_," Zeke shoots back snidely.

Boy, is he in a bad mood today.

He's even more annoyingly bratty than usual.

"Don't be stupid," I snap impatiently. "Jess and I'll make sure we eat exceptionally slowly so you have time to feed them both. Go on. Feed Rex first."

Zeke rolls his eyes, scowling. But he complies, surprisingly.

The path only grows steeper throughout the afternoon. My calves burn with each step, my breath hitching sharply in my chest. The frigid, damp air is difficult to inhale and almost painfully cold in my lungs.

In short, it's not very fun.

About an hour into our afternoon leg, even the exercise isn't enough to keep me warm. I hold out for as long as possible, trying to preserve my pride's dignity, before eventually caving and asking the boys to stop so I can pull on another sweater.

Jesse's twinkle-eyed smirk is almost more insufferable than Zeke's.

If that's even possible.

Finally, with dusk settling over the sky like particles of Sleep Powder, we come to a halt. Unfortunately, we're in a difficult and extremely awkward location; the ground is mighty uneven, and the trees are even too thick for Jess' swag.

So there's no hope for the tent.

We stand around in dismay, the light fading slowly around us.

"Now what?" I say eventually, the first brave soul to man up and face the problem.

Jesse lets out a long sigh. "I don't know. We're in trouble tonight."

Zeke curses under his breath and kicks a boulder white with frost. His foot slips on the slick surface and, with a yelp, he goes down backwards.

The whole thing would be hilarious if he didn't yell in pain.

It's a sound I quickly realise I _never_ want to hear again; my heart jerks in alarm. "Are you okay?"

I hurry to his side, but he slaps my worried hands away as I try to help him up. "Lay off, Grace! I'm fine. I don't need your help."

I know he's only snapping at me because his pride is seriously wounded, but, considering he's just given me a miniature heart attack, I'm pretty offended.

I mean, I'm only trying to help. Jerk.

"Fine," I mutter crossly. I drop my pack carelessly and stomp irritably into the trees.

"Grace!" Jess calls in alarm. "Where are you going? It's dangerous!"

"I'm going to find flatter ground," I snap over my shoulder.

"Don't be stupid–" Zeke begins, but I cut him off.

"_Lay off_, Zeke. I can take care of myself."

Okay, so it's kind of a lie. But it felt good using his words against him.

I know I've pulled the whole stomp-off-into-the-woods thing before, with less than satisfactory results, but I seriously think this might be one of my stupidest decisions yet.

Within minutes, it's completely dark.

I mean _pitch-black_.

And, of course, I didn't bring my flashlight, like the glorious idiot I am.

It's all I can do to make out the trees right in front of me. And I'm breathing smoky ice-cold fog, which just makes things that much creepier. My cell's in my pocket, but its battery has been flat since yesterday.

Seventy-two-hour battery life my ass.

The manual lied to me – I could die out here, and it would be all false advertisement's fault.

I wonder idly how much my death could sue for.

I stumble several times, my feet catching on roots and slippery branches, and at one point I fall on something sharp that snaps under my hand – probably a stick. Whatever it is lances my palm, and I yelp sharply in pain.

For a second I sit where I've fallen, nursing my newest wound and feeling sorry for myself.

Then I get up. After all, sitting around in the middle of a scary-ass forest doing absolutely nothing about my predicament won't produce results.

And even though bad results would be less than satisfactory right now, they'd still be better than _no _results.

But tonight, as it turns out, I'm not destined for bad results.

In fact, luck seems to be on my side for once; I crest a particularly steep hill and it plateaus unexpectedly. I find myself standing before a tiny log cabin.

At first, my joy is overwhelming.

Then I realise that finding the cabin is only fortunate if it isn't home to a psychotic forest-dwelling serial killer.

Oh, seriously, Grace. Stop watching TV. Just stop.

It takes me about five minutes to get over my ridiculous anxiety and actually march up to knock on the door.

Silence.

"Hello?" I call bravely.

I can't help noting how much I sound like the little lamb heroine of a gory horror movie. Cue aforementioned psychotic forest-dwelling serial killer, creeping up behind me with an axe.

Jeepers, now I have to turn around to make sure he's not there.

But I don't actually want to know if he's there – I'd rather not look torturous, graphic death in the face.

Come on, Grace. Man up, and turn around.

I swivel slowly on my heel, my eyes tightly shut.

Open them, Grace. Three, two–

"Grace!"

I scream.

And I mean an at-the-top-of-my-lungs, horror-film, blood-curdling shriek.

"Holy mother of God!" Zeke roars, stumbling over his feet as he scrambles away from me reflexively.

I gasp for breath, my heart racing. "Don't_ do_ that! Jesus Christ, Zeke!"

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he snaps, infuriated, one hand over his heart.

"I didn't know you were there," I whimper, still lightheaded from shock.

"It's not like I tiptoed up here," he retorts. He sighs shakily, drawing one hand over his face. "Far out. Well, at least your lungs work. Could have used them to let us know where you were."

"I was getting to it."

I can't see his face in the dark, but I think he's scowling at me.

"At least you found a cabin," he mutters. "Is anyone inside?"

"Not that I can tell."

"Did you knock?"

"How stupid do you think I am?" I retort, then add hastily, "Don't answer that."

I can hear him smirking. Stupid jerk.

Zeke strolls forward casually, twigs snapping underfoot, and raps smartly against the door.

Still nothing.

This is a good sign.

"Where's Jess?" I ask, as he tries the handle.

"He was behind me," Zeke replies dismissively.

Panic stabs my stomach. "You mean, he could be lost out there somewhere – alone?"

"Relax," he replies lazily. "He didn't stray far from the packs. And there's a fire going anyway; he'll find his way back."

"Do _you _know the way back?" I ask shortly, following as he steps into the dark interior.

"Nope."

"Tell me you're joking."

"I'm not laughing, am I?"

"Zeke!"

"I was following your Mamoswine footsteps," Zeke snaps defensively. "I'm assuming _you _know your way back, then?"

I fall silent, flushing in the dark.

"Yeah," Zeke says smartly. "Didn't think so. Pot calling the kettle black, much?"

"I get it," I snap shortly. "Shut up now."

We're quiet for a moment, while Zeke potters around in the dark, checking the cabin out.

"Coast's clear," he says finally. "We're kind of in luck."

"Kind of?" I inquire doubtfully.

"There's no fridge."

"So, no food." On cue, my stomach rumbles.

"Very good, Grace – in fact, that might just warrant a gold star."

Oh, he's seriously grating on my nerves right now.

"Would you just _shut up_?" I snap, close to blowing my top. "I'm really not in the mood for this right now."

"On a positive note," Zeke says pleasantly, obediently dropping his wise-ass act. "There's a bed."

"_A _bed?"

"_A _bed."

Wonderful.

"You can have it."

"Well, that wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me," Zeke replies. "But thanks."

"You're a jerk."

"Hey, don't turn around and complain now – you offered it up."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to–I mean, seriously–just–_pshargh_!" I throw my hands up in frustration and turn for the door. "I'm going to find Jess. Goodnight, Zeke."

"Grace," he says hastily, as I march off, fuming. Without warning, he shifts and grabs my arm. "Come on – don't be an idiot. You've already gotten lost once, and you got lucky when I found you. Somehow, I can't imagine you'll be so fortunate again."

"If this is _fortunate_–" I shrug him off childishly "–I think I'll take my chances."

"I was just teasing," he says, sighing. "You don't seriously think I'd hog the bed? We can share."

"Fantastic," I grumble. "Just what I've always wanted."

"Oh, grow up," he says shortly. "There's a cupboard in the corner. It probably has blankets. I suggest you shut the door. Unless you want to die of hypothermia. I, for one, would rather avoid untimely demise. I've always imagined my death to be slightly more glamorous."

I stomp over to the door and slam it shut.

"Is your cell working?" I snap.

"Nope. Useless thing died this morning."

I sigh. "Mine, too. How are we supposed to let Jess know we're okay?"

"We'll just have to trust he's smart enough to stay by the fire and assume we're okay," Zeke replies. "I personally don't know – it's a bit of a stretch, for Jesse."

"Leave him alone," I growl.

"Protective of him, aren't we?" Zeke sneers, unfolding what sounds like something material with a whipping flourish.

"No," I retort hotly.

"Really?" He sounds both sarcastic and doubtful.

I reluctantly join his dark form by the square-shaped shadow I correctly assume is the bed. "Pass me a blanket."

Something heavy and soft collides with my face with a _fwump_. "Ow!"

"Sorry," Zeke replies.

"That was unnecessary," I snap, my eyes smarting. My nose stings painfully from the blow.

"It was also unintentional," he replies. "Swear."

Without warning, my poor nose cracks it; I sneeze spectacularly.

"Graceful," Zeke comments sarcastically.

I ignore him, focusing my anger instead on fluffing out the blanket. Removing my hiking boots, I peel off my damp japara, spreading it out on the floor so it can attempt to dry. With the impenetrable overnight chill, however, I'm not expecting much.

I stub my toe painfully on the bed, cursing under my breath, and crawl across the mattress.

Thank god there even is one; if there hadn't been, I probably would have opted for the floor over the solid wooden bed frame, though neither is particularly ideal.

I curl up under the scratchy blanket, my knees drawn up and brushing the wall. The mattress creaks as Zeke joins me, and we're both silent as he makes himself as comfortable as possible on his half of the single-bed mattress.

Then he lies still, his back pressed against mine.

Good god, this is awkward as hell.

"Are you warm enough?" Zeke asks stiffly.

"I'm fine," I reply.

Another thick silence.

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Cool," I say awkwardly.

The bed creaks again as Zeke shifts around a bit.

After another intensely uncomfortable silence, I say, "Goodnight, Zeke."

"'Night, Grace."

Boy, are we in for a long night.


	11. The Tenth Chapter!

**~ Ten ~**

**Of Power Struggles and Cheese Sticks**

* * *

"Where have you guys _been_?"

Jesse jumps up from the fireside as we crash our way into the almost-campsite. All that's left of the fire is a few dying embers.

He's looking pretty haggard.

If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he didn't sleep much last night. It certainly appears that way.

"I'm so sorry," I gush, guilt twisting in my gut. "You were right – I shouldn't have stormed off, and I _did _get lost. Kind of. I couldn't find the way back, at any rate."

"We found a cabin," Zeke says, a little too smugly.

I turn a warning glare on him.

Jesse looks momentarily put out, but his shoulders sag with relief. "At least you're okay. I was freaking out."

"Why didn't you just send that mutt of yours after us?" Zeke asks lazily.

"I did," Jesse retorts shortly. "When you guys didn't come back, I set Shepherd on your trail. But he lost it and had to come back."

"Great hunter," Zeke remarks sarcastically.

"He's not a trained hunter," Jess snaps.

"Zeke, stop it," I warn. Zeke pretends to be interested in something far off between the trees.

I turn back to Jesse. "There's a bed in the cabin. Do you want to rest today?"

"We can't afford to waste time," Zeke interrupts flatly.

"Look at us," I retort. "We wouldn't get very far. None of us slept properly."

He shrugs. "I feel fine."

"Well, good for you," I say snidely, and turn my back on him. "Jess, I'm happy to stop today if you are."

He nods. Zeke gives a short, derisive snort.

"Zeke," I say briskly, "Would you mind taking the packs up to the cabin?"

"What?" he deadpans.

"Jess is exhausted," I reply. "And I'm a _girl_. Since you have so much manly energy, you should be okay to carry our packs for us, right?"

He gives me a filthy look.

I stare him down, arms folded.

Finally, still seething, he snatches up my pack and his, and stomps off.

Jesse reaches for his pack.

"No, don't," I interrupt firmly. "Leave it."

"Grace, I'll take it," he replies uneasily. "I think you made your point."

He doesn't budge when I protest, and in the end, I give up. Someone someday is going to use and abuse that chivalrous, do-good-ing inclination of his.

We stomp out the last of the embers – not that there's any chance a fire could start in these miserable, soggy woods – and follow the steep trail up to the cabin.

X3

"Why do you think it's called 'Summer Breeze'?" I ask, reclining on the tiny veranda and looking up at the crude name carved into a painted plank above the door. I didn't notice it last night.

I'm sitting on a ragged bed sheet I found in the cupboard; perpetual condensation means the wooden planks are permanently wet. I'm trying to ignore the wetness spreading through to my butt. And the chill fighting through my japara and two sweaters.

Happy days.

Zeke doesn't reply. He's still testy about this morning.

"It must be a joke," I continue conversationally. "I doubt this place has ever seen a summer breeze."

Jesse's asleep in the cabin, and since it doesn't have a fireplace, we've got a fire going outside. The place smells of smoke, damp, and decaying leaves.

Zeke gets up. "I'm letting Rex out."

"If he attacks me–"

"I won't–" Zeke interrupts sharply, giving me an insulted look "–let him attack you."

"Easy, tiger," I reply. "Just fearing for my life, here."

He mutters something I don't catch and stalks down the few wooden steps to the leaf-covered ground, his hands shoved in his pockets. His hair, I notice, doesn't seem to be defying gravity as much as it usually does; maybe all the precipitation in the air is dragging it down.

He flicks his black fringe out of his eyes and lazily tosses Rex's Pokéball. The water lizard prances around happily for a bit, then looks around eagerly.

He spots me and perks up, his eyes brightening deviously.

"Don't even think about it," Zeke warns sharply, as I prepare to launch myself into the cabin.

Rex glances up at him, clearly confused, but Zeke doesn't return his gaze.

Mystified, Rex looks back at me almost forlornly, then turns and scarpers away to make mischief elsewhere.

"Happy?" Zeke calls flatly over his shoulder.

"Not wet," I reply, though my butt can attest otherwise. "So yes."

I watch Zeke wandering around in the trees for a bit. He never strays too far. Eventually, he returns to the clearing, Rex at his heels. I snicker quietly to myself; there are wet maple leaves stuck to his blue butt.

Actually, it's kind of cute. In a weird, I-kind-of-hate-you sort of way.

Zeke has his back turned, and for a minute, I'm not too sure exactly what he's doing. All I know is he's fiddling with something.

Then I realise it's a Pokéball.

"Zeke, that'd better not be Teddiursa's," I call warningly.

He shoots me an icy blue glance. "They've got to get used to each other at some point."

"Not right now, they don't," I reply, my voice rising worriedly as he tosses the ball up and down. Clearly, it's a habit he likes to think makes him look cool. "Zeke, don't!"

Too late. He's already thrown the ball, of course.

Stupid, _stupid_ Zeke.

Teddiursa shakes his fur out and it puffs up adorably for a second, before settling against his skin. He sniffs the air inquisitively, and whips around sharply, eyes astute, to growl at Rex.

Rex hisses, narrowing his beady little eyes.

"Stop them!" I yell, but Teddiursa is already diving at Rex. It's all shrieks, hisses and growls as they brawl tooth and nail, doing their darndest to tear each other apart.

It's a fight to the death.

I scramble up from my seat, heart in throat. "Zeke – stop them!"

"Rex, Return!" he calls, but the beam of red light misses the tumbling Pokémon once, twice, three times.

"_Zeke_!"

"I'm trying!" he roars, panic flickering in his ever-cool eyes.

"No," Jesse's voice comes from beside me, startling me half to death. "Leave them."

"Are you _insane_?" I gasp, staring at him in shock for two reasons, his most recent vocalisation only the first.

The second is a little confronting.

He's wearing only a loose cotton long-sleeved shirt with his jeans, several buttons open at the neck, and his brown hair is mussed from sleep. Leaning casually against the door with his hands in his pockets, he looks even taller than usual; his shirt exaggerates his torso and arms, which somehow seem longer than I remember.

I'm not used to guys that aren't either A) Zeke, who doesn't count, or B) in stuffy blazers and striped ties at interschool sporting events.

Jesse, with his collarbone peeking out from under his shirt, has my cheeks flaming shamefully.

I try to glance around inconspicuously, studiously avoiding looking directly at him for more than a split second at a time.

Embarrassing, much?

Jesse's sentiment only serves to solidify Zeke's determination. "Rex! _Stop_!"

"Let them go," Jess repeats.

"Shut up, Applesap!" Zeke snaps heatedly.

"They'll _kill_ _each other_!" I wail, horrified.

"No, they won't," Jess argues simply. "It's a power struggle."

"What are you talking about, you raving idiot?" Zeke growls. "Mind your own business and go back to sleep!"

Something strikes me presently. I turn to Zeke, frowning slightly. "Did you just call him 'Applesap'? He _has _a_ name._"

Zeke ignores me.

It doesn't matter what anyone thinks, in the end. Nothing we say has any affect on the enraged adversaries. They're destined to fight it out, no matter what we try to do to intervene.

And we seriously try. Pokéballs, branches, treats – you name it, Zeke tries it.

Finally, after much fierce battling, it all stops, very suddenly.

The snarling dies away, and we're all astonished to see Rex on his back, glaring up in reluctant submission. Teddiursa looms over him, his paws pressed firmly to his chest in an assertion of dominance.

"Uh…" Zeke says appropriately.

I glance at Jesse, who looks unsurprised. He looks back at me, smiles, and repeats simply, "Power struggle."

"So," I say, watching Teddiursa back away from Rex, licking a particularly vicious gash on his paw, "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Well," Jess replies, "Every now and then, when we bring in a new Growlithe–" He smiles at my surprise. "No, Shep isn't the only Growlithe on the farm. Anyway, when we bring in a new one, the veteran Growlithe become territorial, and they fight the new one until it proves it deserves a place."

"So, that's what Teddiursa just did?" I guess. "Earned his place on Zeke's team?"

"I think so. Since Rex lost, he has no choice but to accept Teddiursa."

"Huh," I say, wondrous. "Well, there you go."

Rex drags himself up from the grass, wincing sharply. He glowers resentfully at Teddiursa, and they salvage their dignity and lick their wounds on opposite sides of the clearing.

"Zeke," I say, feeling kind of bad for Rex. I know. Shock-horror. "You should probably tend to their injuries."

"I'm not sure how far the nearest Pokémon Centre is," Jesse adds.

"If you want, I can help," I offer, though I'm not too sure which of his rampant beasts I'd be more comfortable approaching right now.

Zeke glances at me, surprising me with a gruff, "Okay."

No 'thanks, Grace'. No 'that'd be great, Grace, I appreciate that'.

Just 'okay'.

But I roll my eyes and glance up at Jess. "Have you still got the first-aid kit?"

"I'll grab it." He retreats into the cabin, returning with the little tin box and a few more layers of clothing. Thank god.

He looks at me as I take the box. "Are you sure you don't want me to do it?"

I pull a face of sarcasm. "I think I can survive bandaging a severely weakened Pokémon."

Jess smiles. I leave him running a hand through his bed hair and trudge down the steps to where Teddiursa's trying to reach a bleeding puncture on his back.

"Here," I say, kneeling down near him. He glances around warily, and makes a warning, guttural sort of noise in the back of his throat.

"I know you're in pain," I say, hands up in an offering of peace. "And I know your defences are down. I'm not here to hurt you – I just want to help."

"Ursa," he says stubbornly.

"I have bandages." I hold one up, trying to tempt him. But he's clearly never seen one before; he stares at it blankly.

Hmm. We're going to have to approach this from a different angle.

I examine the contents of the first-aid kit. Paralyze Heal, Burn Heal, a couple of Potions. And two or three packaged bandages.

A Potion might work. At least it'd restore some of his energy.

"See this?" I hold up the bottle. Teddiursa narrows his eyes at it. "This will help stop the pain."

"Ursa!" he exclaims warningly, as I crawl towards him. He moves away, glaring.

"Trust me," I say, getting a little exasperated. I try to get close again, but he scarpers back, putting the distance back between us.

What's worse is I can see it pains him to move.

I sigh and sit back.

"Jess, have we got any Pokémon snacks?" I call. A few moments later, a small packet hits the earth near my feet. I throw a grateful glance over my shoulder. "Thanks."

He salutes from the veranda.

I turn back to Teddiursa. "Are you hungry?"

"Ursa," he says stubbornly.

I'm getting the impression he's just fighting for the sake of opposing my every gesture. Stubborn little git.

Instead of trying to reason with him, I open the packet. He immediately sniffs the air.

"Food," I explain, waving it at him. I shake a few morsels into my palm. "Do you want some?"

He crawls forward ever so slowly, until he can sniffle curiously at my fingers. I hold them steady, trying not to make any sudden movements. At the same time, I want to retract my hand, in case he decides to bite it, or something.

At last – success! – Teddiursa picks up a single tidbit with his paws and puts it in his mouth.

I smile hopefully. "Good, right?"

His little face pulls into a frown, and he spits it out. "Ursa!"

Oh, flipping fantastic.

"Jess, do we have anything else?"

"I'll have a look."

I tip the handful of food back into the pack. Jess reappears. "Try these."

He tosses over another two packs, and a small container of Applesap Farm Pokémon food.

Teddiursa rejects them all.

"This stupid thing is a picky eater!" I complain, crossing my arms over my chest and frowning irritably at the little bear-Pokémon. Teddiursa turns his snubby nose up at me.

"That's a shame; I really thought we were getting somewhere," Jess replies, bemused.

"Me, too."

"Should we try people-food?"

I shrug. "May as well. No harm in trying."

I hadn't expected him to be interested in Pam's stew, but I'm surprised when he refuses dry crackers, chocolate, dried meat strips, _and _a cut up apple.

"What do we do with him?" I wonder, frustrated.

"There's got to be _something _he'll eat," Jess replies, truly baffled. He's out with me now, kneeling in the grass, absorbed in the dilemma.

"He rejected _fruit_," I reply doubtfully.

Teddiursa, no longer feeling particularly threatened by us, watches on with mild interest.

"You're cute," I say to him tiredly, "But you're a little bit frustrating."

"Ursa." He tilts his head to the side, uncomprehending.

"Aww, how adorable!"

There's just something about his little face that makes my heart melt like butter.

"Don't do it, Grace," Jess warns, as my fingers itch to cuddle him. "Unless you want another bandage to add to your collection."

I sigh in heavy reluctance.

Jesse grins. "Here, try this." He hands me a stick of cheese. Teddiursa's nose twitches.

I raise one eyebrow skeptically. "Really? _Cheese_?"

"Ursa!" Teddiursa snatches it from my hands and nibbles at it.

"You're kidding me."

"We have a winner," Jess says triumphantly. "Here. Hold these." He shoves a couple more in my hands. "Let's see if he'll let us fix those wounds now."

With me on distracting and Jess playing nurse, it doesn't take long at all for us to get the Potion administered. In fact, I don't think Teddiursa even notices as Jess gently sprays his injuries.

He's too busy being delighted with his newfound love.

Seriously. That bear can handle his cheese.

The bandages, however, are a different story.

"Ursa! Teddiursa! Ted!" He writhes and wriggles in Jess' strong arms.

"Shh," I say over his protests. "Here. Look – more cheese!"

I wave the stick in his face, but he ignores it.

Well, I suppose we couldn't rely on the magical cheese sticks to solve everything.

"Help me hold him still," Jess grunts, clamping his arm tighter around the squirming little body. "Argh!"

Teddiursa's managed to scratch his forearm.

Doing my best to avoid those lethal little claws, I somehow successfully pin his paws to his side. Then it's a matter of dodging his sharp teeth while Jess applies the bandages.

Finally, we're done, and we leap away from his lashing paws simultaneously.

Teddiursa shakes his fur out, bestows upon us a filthy look, and delicately plucks a stick of cheese from the grass. Turning his back on us, he plonks himself down and proceeds to devour it.

"Well," Jess says. "That was a long and unnecessarily exhausting process."

"At least he'll recover now," I reply. "Though we're probably going to need to stock up on cheese pretty soon."

We grin widely at each other.

X3

"Question six," I say, and Jess looks at me in surprise. I shrug and blush, my error making me shy. "We're not playing anymore?"

"No, we're still playing," he replies, smiling. "Go ahead."

I dab at the gash along his firm, olive skin for a moment. He doesn't flinch once, even though I'm using an antibacterial cleanser, and I know (from personal experience) that it stings like all hell.

Since he tended to my wounds, I'm tending to his. It's a fair deal.

"What's your all-time favourite Pokémon?"

"Hard question," he comments, nodding thoughtfully. He glances around warily. "Shep's not anywhere nearby?"

I laugh. "Nope. You're safe."

He grins boyishly. "Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings – he's a proud little guy, especially since he was my very first Pokémon. But Rapidash is my favourite; hands down."

I sense a back-story. "Do tell."

"Well. We all grow up on the farm with Ponyta, and look forward to one day having them evolve into a powerful, majestic Rapidash," Jess explains. "We're given our first Ponyta to train when we each turn ten. Family tradition. And my grandpa talked Rapidash up like they were the most amazing creatures on the planet – which they are."

I watch his eyes flash with animation, and smile. His passion is infectious.

"Anyway," Jess says, shrugging a little bashfully. "Grandpa always said if we treated our Ponyta with love and respect, and trained them carefully every day, we too would someday be able to ride a Rapidash, which he said was a mighty privilege."

"Have you ever ridden one?"

He shakes his head. "Another family tradition. The first Rapidash you'll ever ride is your own, just after evolution." He grins, lost in his memories. "My older brother and I used to watch dad and grandpa in the fields, practically green with envy. Then we'd pretend our Ponyta were Rapidash, too. We had the best times."

"Where's your brother now?" I ask. I remember him mentioning something about him once, when we first met.

"He decided he wanted to train Pokémon," Jess replies, but something is stirring beneath the nonchalance; it seems a teeny bit strained. "Just up and left one day about a year ago. He doesn't check in very often – probably 'cause he knows he let dad down."

"He was supposed to help run the farm, wasn't he – as the eldest," I realise. "And now it's your job."

Jess nods.

I don't really know what to say to that. But it doesn't seem right, or fair. What if Jess didn't want to inherit the farm, either? Would the reins then fall into the hands of the next eldest – Andy?

Finally, he looks back up at me. "What's your favourite Pokémon?"

Oh, gosh. For a second there, I totally forgot why we were even talking about this. Grace Buckthorn, segue queen, strikes again.

"Magikarp," I reply easily, beaming.

He sort of smiles, like he thinks it's a joke. It wilts into an expression of incredulous confusion when my confident gaze is unwavering. "You're serious."

"As a Xatu."

"_Why_?"

"Magikarp are lucky," I reply matter-of-factly.

Jesse's expression is disbelieving. He says doubtfully, "Really?"

I nod, and when that's all I offer, he says, "How on earth did you reach that conclusion?"

I smile widely. "I read it in a magazine."

Jess gives me a flat look, but I hold up one hand. "It was legitimate, okay? All about star signs and the zodiac, and other stuff. Magikarp are symbols of fortune, I swear."

"How do you figure?"

Er… "Well, why do you think we fish for Magikarp in carnival games?"

"Because they're incredibly inexpensive to purchase and can be commonly found in abundance in the wild?" Jess replies easily.

I make a sound akin to the incorrect buzzer on a game show. "Because if you catch the lucky one, you get a prize. How many other Pokémon come with attached prizes?"

"Grace," Jess says, raising one eyebrow, "Every single Magikarp in those ponds comes with a prize. It's not like only one of them is the lucky prize winner."

I fold my arms and pout. "Cynic."

Jess laughs. "I just don't see how the most commonly found – and most useless – Water-type Pokémon can be considered symbolic of fortune."

Indignation rings in my ears. "Useless? _Useless_?"

He has the decency to look mildly sheepish amid his alarm. "Well, Magikarp aren't exactly the strongest Water-type Pokémon, or the most efficient battlers, or the rarest, or–"

"I thought Professor Oak said each and every Pokémon is special," I say shortly.

"Well, yeah–"

"Then why is Magikarp always considered so mediocre? Why is it snubbed by Trainers in favour of more 'cool' or 'pretty' or 'cute' or 'strong' Water-type Pokémon? Magikarp is cool because it's lucky! Its shiny red scales are _beautiful_. The way it flaps in shallow water is _totally_ adorable. And if you train one enough, it evolves into a Gyarados. What's stronger than that?"

"Okay, Grace–" Jess says hastily, a little nervous, but I'm so revved up now there's no stopping me.

"I think it's totally unfair how the whole world is dismissive of and prejudiced against Magikarp! It's not its fault it needs lots of time and care to become a strong Pokémon. It just needs a Trainer who truly loves it. _I _think Trainers who don't have the time for a poor Magikarp don't deserve one in the first place! If _I _had a Magikarp, I would love it every single day."

"Grace–"

"_Every day_!"

"Grace, I understand," Jess says, putting his hands on my shoulders. But he's trying to repress his laughter. "I'm sorry I offended Magikarp."

I pout.

He sobers. "Really. I mean it. I have no right to judge your favourite Pokémon. I'm sorry."

I sniff, still a little affronted.

"Are we… okay?" Jess asks tentatively, worry flickering in his hazel eyes.

"What?" I ask, confused. "Of course. Why wouldn't we be?"

He relaxes. "I was worried I'd seriously offended you."

I grin, my cheeks warming. "Naw, I just tend to get a little excited about Magikarp."

He laughs. "It's kind of cute, actually."

Wuah! He did _not_ just call me cute.

I stare at him.

"Uh… you okay?" He jokingly waves a hand in front of my face. The word 'cute' keeps ringing in my ears, filling my brain.

A guy just called me cute – for the first time. Ever.

This is a momentous occasion!

But of course, now I feel all silly and can't look at him without blushing. Does he mean 'little sister' cute, or 'teddy bear' cute, or even maybe possibly 'pretty girl' cute?

Does it really matter? He thinks I'm cute! I feel like celebrating!

Wait – do I _want _him to think I'm cute?

And if I do, does that mean I like him?

Wuah – do I…_ like_ Jess? I mean, _like _like him? I've never liked a guy before – what do I do?

He blinks at me, a strange expression on his face. "So… uh…"

Gah – now he feels awkward! Damn it, Grace – chill out! Slap the blush out of your cheeks! You're making poor Jess feel uncomfortable, and he hasn't even done anything! Put the issue to bed for a while. Think about it later.

We speak at the same time.

"You go," he says hastily.

"No, you," I reply, red-faced.

"Well, I was just going to ask," Jesse says, "if you love Pokémon so much, which you clearly do, why didn't you ever ask your dad for one?"

"I did," I reply immediately, thankful for the change in topic, so I can distract my brain. "Every year 'til I turned thirteen. But he never delivered."

"What happened the year you turned thirteen?" Jesse asks curiously.

"Zeke."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Didn't really need a Pokémon after that," I say, and we both laugh.

"I _can _hear you, you know," Zeke snaps from across the clearing, where he's got his nose jammed in his novel again.

"Well, it's true," I reply unapologetically. "Don't act like you didn't feel the same way."

He ignores me, scowling into the pages.

I lower my voice. "We didn't get along very well."

"You don't say?" Jess replies sarcastically, raising one eyebrow. "I never would have guessed."

I grin crookedly. "Is it that obvious?"

"Things don't seem to have changed much."

"No," I agree. "They haven't. Though," I add conversationally, "I think he might actually have a semblance of a conscience now, so we're clearly making _some _progress."

I reach for a wrapped bandage, but Jess stops me. "Don't need it; it'll be right."

Ooh, tough guy.

We lunch quietly, watching the Pokémon consume their meals. They're all spread out like points of a star; Teddiursa to the left, Rex to the right, Shep and Dash near the cabin, El Scorchio as far away as we could get him without him disappearing from view.

For once, though, he's not setting anything on fire. Including me. He's just minding his own business, inhaling his helping of food quietly with his back turned on the cabin.

"I think he might actually like your food," I comment.

Jess follows my gaze. "Should I take offense to that?"

I blush. "I didn't mean to sound like your Pokémon food is bad, or anything. El Scorchio generally refuses to eat _anything_, so I meant it's a good sign; he obviously just – gah! You know what? I'm just not going to talk anymore."

All the words jam together in my hasty, awkward attempt to rectify the insult, but the hole I dug myself just gets deeper and deeper with each word. Stupid me – didn't even stop to think how it might come across. Or what it insinuated.

Jesse grins. "I know you didn't mean it like that."

I roll my eyes, cheeks still burning.

He nudges my shoulder gently. "Question seven?"

"Sure."

He thinks for a moment. "Where is your ideal holiday destination?"

"Ooh," I say excitedly. "Good one. Actually, I've had this planned for ages. I want to see the Orange Islands."

"Really?"

I nod. "Summer sun, sparkling beaches, tropical fruits and salty breezes. Plus it would be amazing just cruising around from island to island. I swear, time runs on a different schedule there. I've always imagined it to be so relaxed."

"Yeah," he agrees. "That would be cool."

"I decided in sixth grade I would visit them when I graduate high school."

"What about college?"

I shrug. "If I go to college, then after I graduate college. Or maybe I'll take a break in between."

"Are you going to go to college?" Jess asks.

"I'm not counting this as a question," I reply. "Just so we're clear on that. College is so far away, y'know? I have no idea what I'd want to study, or even if I want to keep studying after high school. So I've never really thought seriously about it."

Jesse nods thoughtfully. "Makes sense."

"What about you?"

"Holiday destination or college?"

I grin. "Both."

"I want to go to Castelia City."

"In Unova?"

I'm genuinely surprised by this. I thought he'd say something like Cianwood City, or maybe Lilycove – beachside havens. This seems a little extreme, for a country boy.

He nods. "The place is massive. I mean _huge_. The largest city I've ever seen is Olivine, and it's not even the biggest in Johto. It'd just be such a change from living out here all the time. Important people, sky-high buildings, everything trendy and brand-new… And _exciting_. The farm is busy enough, but nothing really exciting ever happens there."

I guess I can understand his logic. "Yeah, I suppose."

We're quiet for a moment.

"Trust me, though, cities aren't that fantastic." I lean my head back against the cabin wall. "Everyone just hurries around, living their own lives and caring only about themselves. You're too busy being busy to care that people are too busy for you. It's easy to get swept up and become invisible. And life is a race; you're always trying to keep up." I sigh. "Out here, it's so much more relaxed. And your family, Jess – it's really obvious they care about you, and about each other. It's nice."

Jess is quiet for a moment. "Yeah."

We're both silent.

I watch Teddiursa nibbling a cheese stick, and call to Zeke. "What're you gonna call him?"

Zeke apparently isn't listening.

"Zeke?"

"Hmm?" He turns his head slightly, his eyes trained to the page.

"What are you gonna call Teddiursa?" I repeat.

He glances up blankly.

I frown. "You _are _going to give him a name, right?"

Zeke looks a little guilty. "I'm working on it." He tries to disappear behind his book.

I smile knowingly at Jesse and say loudly, "Fine. I'll do it."

"No!"

Amusingly, the book is slammed down faster than I can say 'fluffy'. Which, incidentally, is totally what I was going to joke-nickname Teddiursa.

"Why not?" I demand indignantly.

"If _you _name him," Zeke says shortly, "the poor thing'll end up being known as something ridiculous, like _Fluffy_… or _Cuddles–" _Here he shudders violently "–for the rest of his miserable life."

"So?" I reply, folding my arms across my chest, though I'm quietly impressed he knows me well enough to know my line of thinking when it comes to nicknames. "Fluffy totally suits him."

Zeke gives me a flat look. "He's _not _being called Fluffy."

"What about Gumdrop?" I suggest instead, knowing it'll push his buttons.

"Don't be stupid."

"Marshmallow?"

"Grace, please."

"Apple Tart?"

"I'm not even going to bother with you anymore."

"Cinnamon Scroll?"

"…"

"Ooh, ooh! I know. Chocolate Button!"

"Shut up, Grace."

"Crème Caramel?"

"No."

"Jelly Egg?"

"_Jelly Egg_?" Jess repeats quietly in my ear, dubious. "What does that even _mean_?"

I shrug. "It's all I had on short notice."

Meanwhile, Zeke has said, 'no' again, very flatly.

"How about Peanut Butter Brittle? PBB for short."

"Acronym," Jesse says, a smirk in his voice. "Nice."

"I thought so."

Zeke gets up, his temper blown. "You're wasting my time."

Without another word, he stalks off stiffly.

I chortle for a moment.

Seriously. This mountain is cold and lonely, and every day hurts a little more than the last, but with Jess for company and Zeke for amusement, what more could I wish for?

Life is fantastic.

"See? Endless entertainment," I say happily to Jess.

We pick up a different thread of conversation, and it's not until much later that I realise he never answered the question about college.

X3

I didn't think it was possible for the slope to get any sharper, but it is, and it does.

"There are four cabins," Jess huffs, as we slowly climb the mountain, weaving through the trees. "I think the last one should be nearby. It's supposedly a few hours south-west from the summer cabin."

"You mean Summer Breeze?" I ask.

"Yeah. Whatever it's called."

"Summer Breeze," I repeat.

"Okay, Grace," Zeke snaps. "We get it. You have a good memory for useless pieces of information."

I scowl at the back of his head. "Named Teddiursa yet?"

He doesn't reply.

Nightfall comes quickly.

I swear, each night is colder than the last. We huddle up around a weakly flickering fire, bundled up in about five layers each. We couldn't find the cabin, to my immense dismay, but at least erecting the tents is actually possible again now. The trees aren't as dense in this part of the woods, which is probably the only positive thing about this depressing evening.

We ration our food, since we're quickly running out, and sit quietly, waiting for the Pokémon to finish eating.

"I think he looks like a Santos," I say presently, watching Teddiursa nibbling a stick of cheese. He's sitting by my log, so he can re-stock his pile of cheese without having to get up and come near me.

Clever little thing.

"What?" Zeke deadpans.

I nod at Teddiursa. "Don't you think?"

"Grace, that's the most unsuitable name ever."

"I thought 'Fluffy' was the most unsuitable name ever," I reply slyly.

Zeke scowls. "After Fluffy. At least you can associate fluffiness with baby bears. Where the heck is the link between Teddiursa and Mexico?"

Teddiursa, hearing his name, perks up his round ears and looks round at me. "Ursa?"

"What do _you _think?" I ask him. "Since it's your name? What do you think of Santos, eh?"

He blinks at me, confused.

I pick up a cheese stick. "Want one of these?"

"Ursa!" His eyes light up and he reaches his paws.

"See," I say happily, as he munches away. "He loves the name."

"That's cheating," Zeke growls. "You can't _trick_ him into agreeing. And that was dirty, winning him over with cheese sticks."

"Politicians do it all the time," I reply, shrugging. "It's an effective strategy. If it's good enough for them, it's good enough for me."

Zeke scowls into his bowl.

"Hey, Santos," I call, waggling another cheese stick at him. He gleefully accepts the offering.

"Stop it," Zeke snaps. "He'll start responding to it."

"That's the idea, genius," I reply, rolling my eyes.

Jess grins. "It's kind of growing on me."

"No-one asked your opinion!" Zeke snarles. "Teddiursa, enough. No more cheese."

Teddiursa ignores him.

"Santos," I call in a sing-song voice, and to my delight, he turns his head attentively. I beam triumphantly at Zeke. "Victory is mine!"

Zeke, looking exasperated, returns Teddiursa.

"You know, he probably thinks Santos means 'cheese'," Jess says thoughtfully. "Every time you say it, he gets a cheese stick. Now every time you call him Santos, he'll expect to be given a cheese stick."

I shrug. "A minor setback that'll only be a problem if we run out of cheese. So he thinks he's named after his favourite food – what's wrong with that? I'd love to be called Cream Cake."

Jess snorts into his dinner.

We retire when the cold becomes impossible to bear without our sleeping bags. In spite of how early it is, I'm unbelievably tired – so tired, in fact, that I'm not even bothered by Zeke's silence as we crawl into bed.

I just curl up thankfully and welcome sleep.


	12. The Eleventh Chapter!

**~ Eleven ~**

**Of Snowy Peaks and Cold Shoulders**

* * *

We clear the woods around midday the next day.

One minute I'm slipping and sliding on the frosty leaves, grabbing frantically at the closest scrawny trunk I can reach, the next we've emerged on the forest borderline, and all I can see for miles is rocky mountain beneath a thin layer of ice.

Behind us, the dark woods are like a forbidding ocean lapping at our heels.

"Thank god for that," Zeke sighs, relieved. "I think that forest was sucking away my soul."

"You never had a soul to begin with," I immediately quip.

Really, he walked right into that one.

He ignores me.

"Well," Jess says, readjusting his pack straps. "The only way to go from here is up. This is Snowtop Mountain. There's a Pokémon Centre at the peak; we should reach it by nightfall if we make good progress this afternoon."

I can't help the little blanch at the thought of resorting to spending the night in a Pokémon Centre – like every other mediocre, no-name Trainer out there – but after four nights in those woods, I'm prepared to sleep in a damn trash can if it's somewhere indoors.

We set off.

I'd complained about the difficulty of hiking in the woods, but it was nothing compared to hiking up an icy mountain. My boots crunch through the thin layer of glassy ice and rake against the stones underneath. Several times I slip, unable to get solid footing on the uneven ground. Three times I roll my right ankle. Twice I roll my left.

I want to stop about half an hour in, but we don't. We can't afford to. There is _no way_ I'm prepared to sleep in a tent tonight.

The afternoon wears on. The longer we struggle, the more my ankles ache. The sun starts dying at about four o'clock, and the more it sets, the more the chill gets into my chest until I'm shivering under all my layers. My lips are dry, my chin is numb, and my teeth feel like icicles when I run my tongue across them.

Darkness in the woods was creepy, but darkness on the mountain is plain miserable. For starters, there are no sounds of life but Zeke and Jesse's footsteps ahead of mine. The only other noise is the wind howling across the peaks – a terribly lonesome sound.

It becomes harder to find solid footing as the darkness creeps in around us. I push on until I stumble one too many times, and crash down into the icy gravel. I'm sure it hurts, but I'm beyond caring.

"You okay, Grace?" Jess calls tiredly, but I can't muster up the energy to reply. Or get up. I just want to curl up and sleep. I don't care if it's cold anymore.

"No," Jess replies firmly, backtracking to where I'm huddled. "Come on – up you get."

"I'm tired," I mumble.

"Me, too," he replies, hauling me up. "We're nearly there, Grace. I promise."

"My ankles hurt."

"Here." He takes my gloved hand firmly in his. "Lean on me if you need. I won't let you fall."

I resolve to be strong enough to keep moving, and not be a burden to him when he's being so supportive. The least I can do is push on. It proves impossible, though I try with all my might; my legs just can't hack it. My knees tremble and cave so violently that poor Jess ends up half-carrying me.

Finally…

"Zeke."

The Jess-Grace-progression has halted. Zeke pauses tiredly and looks over his shoulder. "What?"

Jess murmurs to me. "Come on – drop your pack."

I'm too tired to really understand what he's talking about. He tugs the straps from my shoulders and it crunches in the ice.

"Take her pack."

"What?" A sliver of indignation colours Zeke's voice.

"Come on, man." Jess groans, hauling me up again. God, I feel so pathetic. But my body feels like jelly. And it _hurts_. _Everywhere. _"She can't walk anymore. Take her pack."

"You take it," Zeke snaps, folding his arms in refusal.

"I can't take her_ and _her pack anymore," Jess replies. "It's too heavy."

"Grace is _light_," Zeke argues. I can hear the smirk in his voice. Mind you, to my surprise, he says it almost like it's a compliment to me.

Which can't be right.

"Not with the pack on her back," Jess replies, impatient. "Zeke, just take it. Unless _you_ want to carry her – in which case, sure, I'll take her pack."

Wait, what? Hold up, now. "I'm fine–"

"Shut up, Grace," they say in unison.

"Fine. Give her here."

"Seriously?" Jess' voice is coloured with astonishment.

Zeke acts all cool. "Whatever. You've already dragged her this far. I'll take her for a bit."

It's Jess' turn to sound smug. "Are you sure you're strong enough?"

"Just give her here."

The next second, Zeke's crunching carefully back to us, and I'm transferred from Jess' sturdy arms to Zeke's rigid shoulder.

"Loop your arms around my neck," he grunts, struggling to keep his footing.

Because it's Zeke, I really feel like letting my body go limp, just so he can struggle with my dead weight. But I don't have the heart to do it. Or the energy, truth being told.

And, let's face it, the fact that he's not leaving me to lie in the ice is pretty much a miracle.

I feel my neck flush scarlet in spite of the chill. I'm just grateful he's even helping me. There's no way I'd have been able to make it on my own. So, in that sense, I guess I kind of owe the boys my life, since – with my luck – I probably would have died about three days ago.

In the end, Zeke scoops his arms through his pack and wears it on his chest, hoisting me up like a baby Slakoth on his back.

My last memory is of Zeke's quiet grunts as he puts one foot in front of the other, his breathing erratic – sharp inhalations, shaky exhalations – his breath steaming in the frigid air. His feet crunch in the steadily thickening ice, jolting my chin against his shoulder. I turn my head, resting my cheek against his back, his rhythmic footfalls making me drowsy.

I feel safe. I feel like I can depend on him.

I fall asleep with the first frosty snowflakes kissing my face.

XD

I wake up a second before Jess' voice says my name.

"Grace. Wake up – we're here."

He sounds exhausted. Under my lazily draped arms, Zeke's shoulders are trembling – from cold or tiredness, I can't tell. I open my eyes, and in the foggy bleariness I can make out the bright lights of a small building.

White flecks drift down thickly, en masse, like someone's just ripped open a sky-sized pillow and its feathers are tumbling lightly to the earth in an eternal stream.

"It's snowing," I murmur in wonder.

"Yep," Jess says. He dumps his pack and lowers his voice. "Here, let me take her."

I'm prised off Zeke's back and carried through a set of glass doors, which glide open with a welcoming blast of delightfully warm air. It sounds like a hospital – monitors whir quietly, machines beep in distant rooms – and smells like _warmth_, like hot cocoa and open fires.

"Oh, my!" says a gentle voice in alarm. "Is this an emergency?"

"No," Jess' voice says. "She's okay. She just needs to sleep for about a week."

I half-smile sleepily at the joke.

"Bring her through – I'll set up a room right away."

I'm curious about the Pokémon Centre, but not enough for it to eclipse my drowsiness. I don't remember much more than being carried around and being so, so tired. And wishing that we would just _arrive _wherever the heck we were going already, so I could sleep uninterrupted for a good few months or so.

My legs hit the mattress first, then my hip, shoulder, and finally my head, which sinks into what feels like the softest pillow on the goddamn planet.

I don't know if I'm even given a blanket. I'm already dead to the world.

XD

I think I'm subconsciously aware of my hunger even before I wake up.

When I come to, pale light streams through the single window, across my face, irritating my eyes. I'm sprawled awkwardly across a bottom bunk, half-dangling off it.

I open my eyes and look straight up at the grey roof. Zeke and Jess are nowhere to be found. Faint noises of life babble to my attention from behind the door.

The room is on the claustrophobic side of small, and decidedly uninteresting, consisting only of two wooden bunks and a tall, narrow cupboard that was probably designed to appear to be impersonating oak, but failed. Miserably.

I sit up, yawning long and languid, wondering what the time is.

My tummy rumbles – a steady stream of growling that I'd comfortably bet could intimidate a Charizard. I massage it soothingly.

There, there, little one. You've not been forgotten.

I'm yanking my arms through my lucky sweater when I amble into the Pokémon Centre foyer. Zeke and Jesse are sitting on either sides of a booth (I know – weird, right?), both staring out the wide, clean window.

Jess looks around when I slouch over.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," he greets, his eyes flicking almost imperceptively to my hair and back to my face. The tiniest of amused smirks twitches the corner of his mouth.

Ugh. Didn't think about looking in a mirror before emerging from the cave. Whoops.

Oh well.

I grunt and drop onto the bench beside him. He makes no comment about my hair.

"What does that mean?" Jess asks Zeke in mock fascination.

Zeke's sullen gaze doesn't shift. "It's Grace for 'I haven't consumed grease in over twenty-four hours – restore my saturated fat levels before I suffer severe anaphylaxis and prematurely expire."'

"That would be a shame," Jesse muses.

"Indeed," Zeke replies dryly.

Har-di-har, guys. Seriously. I'm _dying _of starvation here – that's hardly something to joke about.

My stomach gives another almighty rumble. At this rate, I'm going to set off a volcano, or something. Feed me!

Jess claps his hands together, a twinkle in his eye. "Waffles?"

I guess I must look somewhat like a starved Munchlax; he chuckles when my eyes light up in ill-contained excitement. "Waffles?"

"They're serving them in the kit–"

I'm already bouncing away.

When I return, a plate in each hand, Zeke's staring down at his fingers, which are repetitiously fraying the cuff of his hoodie. He's frowning slightly, his eyebrows pulled down over his shadowy blue eyes.

This means something is bothering him.

Why am I not surprised?

Jess frowns in confusion at the two plates. "We've already eaten."

"The serving lady told me I was only allowed one helping," I reply, carefully transferring one plate of waffles to the other for the desired result of a four-story-waffle-tower. "So I pretended one was for you."

Jess' face cracks into a wide grin of part incredulity. "You're actually going to eat _four waffles_?"

"Don't underestimate her," Zeke interjects moodily.

"And they're only _little _waffles," I add, stabbing the top one with my fork and holding it up. "See?"

"Grace, that's bigger than your face."

I grin. "That rhymes."

I proceed to contentedly stuff my cheeks. Jess watches on, fascinated.

"Y'know," I say, breaking the silence after swallowing a mouthful of puffy, maple-syrup-waffle. "I have no idea what time it is."

"Time for you to get a watch," Zeke retorts. "Or look at the one you've got."

"It's in the room."

"Well, that's not a very useful place for it, is it?" he sneers coldly.

Wow. What's his _problem_? Seriously.

"The time," Jess interjects smoothly, probably sensing a disturbance in the water, "is eleven twenty-two. You've just slept thirteen hours."

Holy Miltank. "For real?"

He nods.

I sit back in my chair, dumbfounded. "Well, there you go."

"You were tired," he agrees.

"Ask my back about it," Zeke grumbles. "It hasn't stopped cracking all morning."

"Well, my neck wanted to tell your back to be a bit more comfortable next time," I reply, mock-serious, "but I suggested it just be grateful for the time being, and leave a suggestive feedback letter in the Comments Box later."

Zeke, whose eyes had momentarily flashed furiously up to my face, anger welling behind them, subsides.

Something is definitely off with him this morning. Detective Grace is instantly intrigued.

I glance questioningly at Jess, who just sort of half-shrugs and says nothing.

"So," I say casually. "What's been happening during my winter hibernation?"

"Jack all," Zeke replies shortly.

"That's Zeke for 'Not a whole lot, but a few notably significant tid-bits I'm unwilling to discuss with you because you're going to find them far too interesting for comfort,'" I say to Jess, who grins.

"Shut up," Zeke growls.

"Seriously," I whine, sticking out my bottom lip for added pouty effect. "Why are you so grumpy this morning? I mean, your usual disposition is only a fraction less unpleasant, but why the cruddy attitude?"

"Lay off, Grace."

"Is it raining in Zekeland?" I ask conversationally. "I suppose that could put a damper on things."

"Shut up, Grace."

"Get it?" I mutter in conspirational undertones to Jess. "Damper… Rain… Makes things damp?"

"Yes, I got that, Grace," Jess replies, and pats my head. My tummy flip-flops at the unexpected contact – but it could just be a side effect of excessive waffle consumption within a short period of time. "Very clever of you. Well done."

"Thank you."

Zeke, in the mean time, is scowling darkly at Jesse. "Don't _pat _her. She's not a Skitty."

Jess looks like he might respond, but seemingly changes his mind, biting his tongue instead. Curious. Now I want to know what he was _maybe_ going to say. I bet it would have shot Zeke's temper through the roof.

"He was just kidding," I reply in Jess' defence. "It was part of the whole infantile-pun thing."

"I know that, you idiot," Zeke snaps spitefully. "I'm not _stupid_."

I shrug it off, but inside, I'm actually kind of a tiny bit offended. I'm only trying to lighten the mood, after all. And yes, Zeke might be the butt of the joke a little, but he doesn't have to bite my head off.

Jess doesn't look very happy with Zeke; something in his eyes darkens. Catching me watching, he turns and says, "We had our Pokémon checked up this morning."

"Oh?" Surprise colours my voice.

Zeke flashes Jess a warning look. "Applesap."

His tone is even more threatening.

Honestly, if I were Jess right now, I'd stand down.

Just saying. Zeke kind of looks like he might start vomiting fireballs.

Jess, however, ignores him. "Nurse Joy told Zeke his Totodile is overweight."

Zeke slams a fist against the tabletop. I jump, startled.

"I told you not to say anything!"

Jess calmly wipes a squiggle of syrup from the edge of my plate. "I thought divulging to Grace would be okay. It's important she doesn't feed it any more treats… and stuff."

He glances at me slyly from the corner of his eye.

Both of us know damn well I'd never feed that water lizard a stupid treat.

I bite back a laugh. And just as well, too.

"It wasn't your information to divulge!" Zeke growls between his teeth. Obviously Jess wasn't meant to overhear Nurse Joy's prognosis. How unfortunate for Zeke.

But _ha_. Seriously. It doesn't surprise me in the least that Rex is fat. It's about time Zeke suffered the consequences for his overindulgence of that stupid little reptile.

Zeke shoots Jess a glare of loathing and shoves up from the booth abruptly.

"Where are you going?" I demand reflexively, without stopping to think that I probably shouldn't have asked. My being nosy is only going to inflate his anger further, and he hates feeling crowded, especially when he's pissed off.

My bad.

And it's not like his answer matters, anyway; where exactly does he have to go except for another room somewhere in the Pokémon Centre?

Unless he wants to risk hypothermia and possible death out on the mountain.

But I doubt that.

So I really can't take offense when he snaps, "For God's sake, Grace – it's _none_ of your business!", and storms off.

After a short pause, I turn to Jess. "So _that's_ why he was in a foul mood this morning."

Jess doesn't need to reply.

With an exaggerated sigh, I return to stabbing my waffle tower.

XD

"Hello?"

The Centre lobby is pretty quiet; we're the only Trainers I've seen since we arrived, apart from a backpacker who checked out late this morning.

"Nurse Joy?"

I drum my fingernails against the counter, waiting.

I have no idea if she's even still here. Does Nurse Joy leave after three o'clock? Is manning the Pokémon Centre desk a twenty-four-seven job?

Maybe she's just on a lunch break, or something.

A really _late_ lunch break.

I sigh heavily, blowing my fringe out of my eyes. I'm terribly bored. Jess is snoozing in the room. Zeke's off sulking somewhere.

With no-one to talk to for an hour, and only a few tattered volumes of an academic Pokémon magazine to flip through, coupled with my notoriously limited attention span, it's taken very little time for me to get over having down time.

If I didn't know how cold and treacherous it was out there, I'd probably whine at Zeke until he agreed to hit the road again.

Well, first I would find him.

Then I would tell him off for being a prat.

_Then _I'd whine about us moving on.

But, since I know how cold and treacherous it is out there, I don't think I will.

"Hello?" I call again, unhopeful.

Why isn't there a bell to ring? Seriously. This is just annoying.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Yay! Finally! "Is there something I can help with?"

Nurse Joy emerges from the depths of the Centre, examining what looks like a printed chart on a clipboard. She puts it down on the counter to smile politely at me.

"I hope so," I reply, tapping the box in my hands. I push it across the counter; she blinks at it in surprise.

"What's this?"

"It's my Pokémon." I lift the lid for her. "Do you know much about Slugma?"

"I'm afraid not," Joy replies with a small frown, taking the Pokéball in her fingers. "The Pokémon around these parts are mostly Ice-types; they're my specialty. But I may be able to answer a general query." She smiles kindly at my disappointed look. "But first, why don't you let me give it a check up?"

Since she's already gone ahead and hooked the ball up to whatever that freaky machine doodad thing is behind her, she might as well. I don't think my protesting would have mattered much, anyway.

"Okay."

For a few moments, she closely examines her computer screen; her oblong spectacles reflect two identical, bluish squares.

"Well, all its vitals are healthy," she reports happily. "There doesn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary. This is quite a healthy Slugma." She retrieves my Pokéball, returning it to me with another friendly smile. "Now, what was it you wanted to know?"

I chew my lip for a second. "It's just…" How do I say it? "El Scorchio – yeah, that's his name; I didn't name him. Anyway, he doesn't eat much. Actually, it's really hard to get him to eat _anything_. I was just wondering if there was any particular diet for Slugma."

"I'm sorry," Joy replies sadly. "I wish I knew. To be honest, I haven't really had many dealings with Slugma – it's quite rare to come across one up here."

Well. That was a complete waste of time. "Thanks anyway."

"If it's any help," she says as I try to inconspicuously drop El Scorchio's Pokéball in its box without appearing to be in too much pain, "Many Fire-type Pokémon need to have their body temperatures quite closely monitored. To sustain their ability to produce embers at will, they need to be kept at quite a high temperature."

I'm listening. "What happens if their temperature drops?"

"Well," Joy replies, "in extreme cases, the Pokémon can die." Whoa. Back up a bit, there. "Most commonly, though, they just become unwell. It really depends on the power source."

The what now? Too much, too fast! "Power source?"

She nods, her loopy pink pigtails bobbing against her shoulders. "Some Fire-type power sources are internal, and some are external. Slugma, for example, has an internal power source, and Charmander has an external source. It draws fire-power from the flame on its tail."

Yeah. Okay. That's pretty cool.

"I'm not suggesting this is the only explanation," Joy continues, "but it _is _possible your Slugma might be losing its appetite if its body temperature isn't at its peak. Imagine your body is low in iron; as a result you feel much more tired. Or when you contract a virus, you lose your appetite. This condition is much the same."

Wait. So El Scorchio could actually be really _sick _right now? "How can you tell if its body temperature is too low?"

"It's more difficult with internal sources," Joy replies, frowning slightly, "because there are fewer symptoms. External sources often experience an obvious change. The flame on Charmander's tail diminishes the worse its condition becomes."

But that's _awful. _Just thinking about it makes me feel helpless. "But – what can you _do_? To make it better?"

Joy smiles gently. "There's no need to panic. Your Slugma is perfectly fine. All the Pokémon Centres operate on an international database that provides basic status information for each species of Pokémon. I can tell from checking your Slugma's body temperature that it's within the normal range."

"_Any _Pokémon Centre can do that?" I ask dubiously. Sounds too good to be true.

She nods cheerfully. "Any Centre, anywhere. Technology these days is quite spectacular."

Indeed.

"Thanks for your help."

"If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to ask."

Thanks, but no thanks. I think I'm done for the day. My brain feels like it's going to explode from information overload. In fact, there's a good chance it's still downloading.

I think I'll just go process for a while.

XD

"Ponyta has an external source," Jess says.

I've been babbling incessantly ever since he woke up, excited by my newfound knowledge. Unsurprisingly, none of what I have to say is new to him.

"Its mane and tail, right?" I guess.

He nods. "And Growlithe has an internal source."

We're sitting side-by-side on the floor in our room, our backs against the wall. Bright light floods through the window, painting a long square on the carpet at our feet.

"How many species of Fire Pokémon are there?" I ask. "I mean, in total?"

I feel him shrug. "I have no idea. Lots."

"Nurse Joy made me realise today I don't know anything about Fire-type Pokémon at all," I say, sharing my private anxiety with him. "Or _any _Type of Pokémon, for that matter. I don't think I should be training El Scorchio – what if he gets sick and dies because I couldn't take proper care of him?"

"He won't die, Grace," Jess assures me firmly. "And if he got sick, you'd definitely notice. His behaviour would change, for one thing. I'm sure there would be other symptoms, too."

"Of course _you _can be confident," I say glumly. "You've been around Fire-type Pokémon all your life. It's probably second-nature to you."

"You're over-thinking it," Jess says, nudging my shoulder gently. "Don't freak yourself out, Grace. You're still a rookie, remember? Every Trainer starts somewhere, and nobody knows what they're doing when they first start off. Before you know it, you'll know heaps about El Scorchio." His mouth quirks; he fights to keep a straight face.

I blink at him. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice cracking. "Do I really have to call him that?"

I sigh. "It's his name. It'd be rude to call him anything else."

"But I just can't take him seriously. Can we nickname him somehow? What about 'Scorch'? Is that okay?"

I look at him. He stares back earnestly.

I cave, my shoulders slumping. "Yeah, okay. I guess. But if he takes offense and burns your face off, I'm going to say I warned you."

Jess grins. "Deal. I'm calling him Scorch from now on."

We fall silent. El Scorchio's Pokéball box is sitting on my pillow, where I left it. I gaze at it contemplatively for a while.

Then Jess shifts, and breaks my concentration.

I sigh. "I suppose I'd better go find Zeke. We need to sort out what we're doing tomorrow."

He grimaces at me as I clamber to my feet. "Good luck."

I grimace back. "Thanks."

XD

"Zeke?"

I poke my head around the door of what looks like a small room for practise matches. The white lines on the floor create the markings of a field.

He's sitting against the wall, his arms flopped over his knees, a Pokéball dangling precariously in his fingers. I assume it's Rex's.

He remains that way, even when I step inside and close over the door.

I bite my lip, feeling kind of awkward. I don't know if I should look at him or look away, talk _to_ him or _at _him, or if I should just walk back out again.

He can be so hard to read sometimes.

"What are you doing?" I ask tentatively. My voice bounces off the walls.

He says nothing.

Fiddling awkwardly with the draw-string of my sweatpants, I cross the floor and sit down near him. For a long moment, I just glance at him, hoping he'll look up so I can offer him a tentative smile. But he doesn't.

"For what it's worth," I say, "I don't think Rex looks fat at all. You can't even tell."

"Go away, Grace," Zeke says in a low voice.

A month ago, I would have gone, with pleasure. But walking away right now won't solve anything. So I don't. I just sit there, enduring the silence that Zeke makes no attempt to fill.

"We can't keep fighting like this," I say. He flicks his hair out of his eyes, but still doesn't look at me.

For the love of Smoochum. What's his _problem_?

I persist. "Zeke?"

"I said go away," he repeats bluntly.

A spark of irritation flares in my chest. I'm so tempted to just get up and storm out, like I'm so used to doing. But I fight the urge. "We need to talk about tomorrow."

"We'll do it tomorrow morning."

"Won't it be a bit late then?"

He sniffs once.

Ugh. He's being such a drama queen. I want _so _badly to tell him off; to tell him to grow up. "This isn't any way to deal with your problems."

"Shut up."

My temper flares again, more fiercely this time. "Can you _not _be so rude, please?"

He ignores me. But his eyebrows twitch in a dark frown over his eyes.

I lick my lips and mutter, "I'm just trying to help."

"Did I ask for it?" he snaps, looking me in the eye with such abrupt, fierce coldness that I start where I'm sitting.

Heat floods my cheeks.

"No," he says shortly. "I didn't. And I don't need it, or your pity. So take it elsewhere. I'm so sick of you always playing the heroic mediator. Stop trying to fix everyone's problems – it's not your responsibility; I'm_ not_ your charity case. You're not even my real sister, for God's sake! So just _go away_!"

I shouldn't be, but I'm so shocked that I can't think of anything to say.

He levels a cool glare at me, then looks back down at the Pokéball in his hands.

I struggle to swallow; my mouth has gone dry. "Well."

He says nothing.

I'm surprised to find my eyes are filling with hot tears. And I can't fight them back. Maybe because I'm so unused to being spoken to like that.

I mean, sure, Zeke's pretty mean sometimes, but always in the heat of the moment, when I've pissed him off. When it's forgivable.

And I know it's true – the sister thing – but was that _really_ necessary?

I don't know why I'm reacting like this. But there's a hard lump in my throat, and it hurts like hell trying to fight it.

Struggling against tears and simultaneously trying to speak proves too hard; I make a weird sort of choking noise that gets caught in my throat.

Then I get up. There's no way I'm giving him the satisfaction of seeing he's upset me.

In fact, how did he even get to me in the first place? How did I _let _him?

I think of a handful of spiteful, dramatic one-liners I could say as I leave, and voice none of them. What's the point? And I'm not that childish, anyway.

At least I have enough pride to resist wiping at the confusing tears dripping down my face until I've shut the door safely behind me.

XD

The next day passes much the same.

Last night, after a hot meal and a long shower, I crashed early and slept through, not even waking when Zeke returned to the room, which happened sometime during the night, because he's sound asleep when I wake up.

I clamber quietly out of bed, a wounded sort of stinging feeling whiplashing through me when I glance at the back of his mussed black hair. I ignore it.

I find Jess in the lobby.

"Morning," he says, watching me with quiet intensity as I sit down. I pretend not to notice. "Or should I say afternoon?"

"How late is it?" I ask, surprised.

"Nearly two."

Holy Miltank! "But I went to bed at, like, ten!"

"Your body's probably catching up on sleep," Jess replies, frowning at me. His hazel eyes watch my face, portraying the concern he's not voicing. "You must've been more exhausted than you realised."

"Well," I reply, shrugging as I take his dinner roll without permission and ripping it in half, "It's not like I've ever hiked through forests and mountains for a week. It's probably a culture shock, or something."

"Maybe," he agrees, and offers me his bowl of soup. "Here. I'll get some more."

We lunch quietly. The soup is nice; some kind of flavoursome broth. I stare out across the glistening slopes, freshly coated with a layer of thick, overnight snowfall.

"What's on your mind?" Jess asks. I drag my eyes away from the view and look at him. His expression is earnest and uninhibited; he knows something is wrong.

I didn't offer him anything last night when I eventually made it back to the room, even though I probably looked terrifyingly unsightly.

I think he knows it's pretty personal, too; he's being very cautious.

I feel kind of guilty for lying to him. "Nothing important. I just… I feel like we should have kept going today, y'know? It feels like we're wasting precious time."

My nerves squirm uncomfortably when he just looks at me. Like he knows I'm not telling the truth. But if he does, he lets it go. "I think it was important that you slept so much. If it's been good for your health, I don't regret falling another day behind."

I sigh, raking my bangs from my face. "It feels like we'll never get there."

"It _is_ a long stretch from Ecruteak to Olivine," Jess agrees. He gives me a gentle smile. "But we're more than halfway there now. And we've climbed Snowtop Mountain. That's the hardest part out of the way. It's all downhill from here." His mouth quirks. "No pun intended."

I can't help but grin at that. He smiles back, a twinkle in his eye.

A comfortable silence passes.

"Question eight?"

I glance up at him. "Go on."

"If you could be anywhere in the whole world right now," he says, watching me carefully, like he already knows what I'm going to say, "Anywhere at all, where would you be?"

I'm quiet for a second, then I look up into his eyes. "Home."

He nods, almost imperceptively. "Why?"

Gah. I'm going to mist up again. I swallow it down. "Travelling around like this is so… exhausting. And it's so hard being stuck with Zeke all the time. I miss my bed, and my clothes, and my safe little routine, even if it was a bit boring. I even miss that stupid, snobby school. Sometimes–" I catch his eye, feeling guilty for some reason "–I wish I'd never left."

His expression doesn't change. "I thought you might say that."

"Don't get me wrong," I add hastily. "I don't wish I'd never met you, or anything like that." I blush, my heart thudding in my chest. "It's just… everything in my life is so new and different now. And I'm not sure I like it. I'm not used to any of this; I don't know how to deal with anything. I was _comfortable_ at home."

"Why are you embarrassed?" Jess asks, his fingers twitching where they're resting on the table. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. What you're feeling is perfectly understandable. You've been thrown off the deep end – _some_ kind of reaction is to be expected."

I draw in a shaky breath. "At least I have nothing to regret. I didn't make this decision; I had no choice. I'm glad I can blame my father."

Something flickers in Jesse's eyes at the mention of my dad. Or maybe it's my tone.

"Grace–"

I cut him off before he can probe any further. "Your turn. Where would you be?"

He looks like he might not let it go, but he does. He doesn't look happy about it; frustration flickers behind his eyes.

To my surprise, it's his turn to shift uncomfortably. "I'd be with my brother."

"Your older one?" I ask, though I already know that's who he's referring to.

Jess nods. "We used to get along really well. I miss him a lot." He licks his lips. "I often wonder where he is, you know? What he's doing. If he thinks about us much."

"I'm sure he does." Not that I'd know. I've never A) been that long or that far away from my family, and B) had much family to miss in the first place.

Jess gives me a sad sort of smile. "He never told any of us. That he wanted to leave, be a proper Trainer, anything. He just… left. I thought he trusted me more than that. We were pals as well as brothers."

I don't know what to say to him. Should I be trying to comfort him? Should I just be a good listener? I'm not sure what a good friend does in this situation.

He gazes at his fork, troubled.

I ask, quietly, "Does it still hurt?"

He glances back up at me. "Not as much as it used to."

Stupid question, Grace.

The expression that flashes momentarily in his eyes makes my heart break a little bit.

I want to hug him.

I don't.

Partly because it would be awkward leaning over the table.

Partly because I've never actually hugged a boy.

I know, right?

"Anyway," Jess says, with an air of finality. "Wherever he is right now, that's where I'd like to be." He nods at my bowl. "Are you finished?"

I nod. He gets up to take our dishes to the kitchen.

I watch him go, thinking he looks awfully lonely all of a sudden.

XD

We set off again the following morning, a hot breakfast and Nurse Joy's cheerful farewell behind us.

Zeke makes no attempt to speak to me, and I don't offer him a chance to.

So we walk in silence.

Thankfully, Jess doesn't catch on to the tense hostility between us; the downhill hike is difficult and requires total concentration. The slope declines sharply, and our feet sink into freezing cold, ankle-deep snow with each step. We have to make sure we don't get distracted; one careless step could result in a broken ankle.

The descent of Snowtop Mountain is surprisingly short. We cover a lot of ground in very little time, perhaps because it's downhill, perhaps because we're just so damned determined to get off the mountain and away from the ice as soon as possible.

Well, I am, anyway.

At any rate, we reach flat ground by lunch time.

I'm so glad to see grass I almost fling myself down and kiss it.

"Shall we take a break?" Jess suggests.

I shrug. "Okay."

He glances at Zeke, who just scowls. "Whatever."

We walk a little ways further, looking for a nice spot to stop and sit. I've just turned to comment to Jess when faint voices drift along to us with the breeze. We glance at each other, curious.

Around the bend we discover two things: the _perfect _spot for lunch, and two girls that have already claimed it. A red plaid rug is spread on the grass, and they're lounging on it, chatting away easily. They fall silent upon spotting us.

"Hi," I call hesitantly, with an awkward little wave.

Well, it's not like I know what to say in these situations. Should I even say anything, or do you just keep walking?

Kind of seems a bit rude.

"Hey," one of the girls calls back. She looks to be the elder of the two – older than me, at least – with her long hair pulled back in a high ponytail; it falls past her shoulders like a shimmery dark waterfall. She shakes the flyaway bangs out of her eyes. "You guys just come down Snowtop Mountain?"

I nod, glancing at the guys, but for whatever reason, they're both acting mute. Looks like it's up to me. "We left the Snowtop Pokémon Centre this morning."

She looks impressed. "It's a fair hike, isn't it?"

I laugh, a little forced. "Tell me about it."

Gah. This is awkward. I have no idea what to say now.

She jabs a thumb at her companion. "We're just having lunch. You wanna join us?"

I glance at Jess. He shrugs gently.

Great. Thanks for helping.

I turn back and attempt a friendly smile. It comes out shy as all hell, as I knew it would. But it's the best I've got. "Yeah, okay."

It's a bit awkward as we amble over to where they're sitting and dump our packs. We arrange ourselves on the grass – me next to Jess, Zeke away from the lot of us – and pull out the pre-made sandwiches we bought this morning before we left the Pokémon Centre.

Thankfully, the other girl grabs the reins. "I'm Chloe. This is my sister, Ebony."

Ebony looks about twelve, and shares her sister's rich brown hair and dark eyes. She's cut her hair short, though, in a chin-length bob, and is about as socially useful as Zeke and Jess. She just stares at her shoelaces, nibbles at an apple, and says nothing.

"I'm Grace," I reply. "This is Jesse. _That_–" I nod over at Zeke "–is my brother, Zeke."

"Stepbrother," he snaps shortly.

I ignore him.

"You two don't look alike," Chloe comments amiably.

"Thank god," Zeke mutters.

She gives him am uncomfortable, I'm-not-sure-what-I-should-say-to-that sort of look, and glances back at me.

"Just ignore him," I advise flatly. "Most people do."

He scowls into his lunch.

She smiles, for lack of anything to say, and changes the subject. "So, you guys look pretty young. Shouldn't you be in school?"

Jess magically finds his voice. "Shouldn't _you_?"

She grins. "We're on our way there, but we got a little sidetracked." She shares a secretive smile with her sister. "We moved to Olivine this summer, and to avoid all the boring packing and unpacking, I took Ebony camping instead. We decided to wig out on the new school for a while."

Jess frowns. "Won't your parents be worried?"

Chloe shrugs. "Probably. I called Mom and told her we're on the way home. It's not like there's anything they can do. And besides–" She shrugs carelessly "–they're too busy being stressed about the move and their new jobs and stuff to be too concerned about school. They probably don't even realise the semester has begun."

Jess looks to me, probably for back up, which I don't offer.

Hey, if they can afford to miss class without it causing trouble, I don't see what the problem is.

Then again, that's probably just because my dad's never paid much attention to my education, either. All he does is pay the fees at the start of the year. I don't think he's ever seen one of my report cards. For all he knows, I could be wigging out every day to play in a punk band.

And starting at a new school? Yuck. I completely understand their being totally nervous.

For the first time ever, Jess scowls at me.

I'm surprised when my stomach feels reflexively unpleasant, and my heart squeezes.

Apparently, I don't like Jess being unhappy with me.

"Um," I rectify, eager to shift the target of that disapproving frown, "You probably shouldn't be avoiding school like this." I think of something even better, and quickly add, "Running away from the problem won't fix it."

Yeah, that's good, Grace.

I glance to Jess for praise, and am rewarded with a twinkle-eyed smile.

That's better.

Chloe, meanwhile, is shrugging. "We'll get there eventually." She tosses her fringe again, and says, "So, what's _your_ story?"

Oh. Um. This is where I become the hypocrite. "Well, we're kind of taking a year off school."

She looks interested. "Why?"

I glance at Zeke, but he refuses to look up. I sigh huffily. "It's a long story. We're travelling to Olivine to catch the ferry to Vermillion City."

And that's all she's getting.

I am _not _talking about my personal life with strangers.

I realise, though, out of the corner of my eye, that Jess is watching me, too, quietly intrigued, and I feel a stab of guilt for not discussing it with him yet, considering he's shared his personal stuff with me.

Or at least some of it.

Ugh. I'll get around to telling him. Eventually.

"What's in Vermillion City?" Chloe asks, and my cheeks warm.

"Nothing."

She snorts. "Yeah, okay."

I glance sharply at Jess, and he catches my wordless request. _Change the subject._

He complies. "So, are you two Pokémon Trainers?"

Chloe perks up. "You bet. I'm training until I'm good enough to beat Jasmine. Then, when I do, I'm leaving school to collect _all _the Johto League badges and compete in the Silver Convention."

I can see Jess wants to argue, but I shoot him a warning look.

It's not our place to judge, after all.

He obediently backs down.

To my surprise, Zeke pipes up. "So, you think you're pretty good, then?"

Chloe crosses her arms proudly. "I can hold my own."

Zeke gets to his feet. "Prove it."

"What?" I blurt, glancing between them. "Wait–"

"Leave it, Grace," Jess interrupts quietly.

Chloe's already got her fingers clasped around a Pokéball. Her eyes flash with challenge. "With pleasure."

They split, heading for opposing ends of the grassy space, and I sit forward, my interest captured by this unexpected turn of events.

It looks like I'm _finally _going to actually watch Zeke battle.

This should be interesting.


	13. The Twelfth Chapter!

**A/N: **This is the chapter that inspired the ship name for Grace/Jess: CandleWickShipping. (Thanks **pyrotechnic galaxy** for the many conversations about this!). Hopefully it'll make some sense after you've finished. Someone let me know if they like the ship name?

* * *

**~ Twelve ~**

**On Pride Wars and Baby Steps**

* * *

A breeze rustles through the clearing, toying with Chloe's mahogany ponytail, and the corners of Zeke's black shirt.

"Strawberry?" Ebony offers, surprising me with the ability of speech, and holding out a punnet.

"Thanks." I pick one, turning back to watch the show unfold.

Chloe's fingering her Pokéball eagerly, watching Zeke – waiting. Across the grass, Zeke's tossing his Pokéball up and down.

He gazes at it thoughtfully, gives Chloe a cool, judging look, and speaks. "Two on two."

I nearly choke on my strawberry. "He's going to battle _Santos_?"

Jess shrugs, playing casual. But his eyes betray his concern. "Looks like it."

"Ze–" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"No. This is Zeke's lesson to learn. Let him make his mistakes."

I settle back on the rug. Jess is right.

Why should I try to help him? He's made it perfectly clear he's not interested in anything I have to say – so why waste my breath?

If he wants to completely screw this battle up, I'm not going to try and stop him.

"Fine," Chloe agrees. "Ready when you are!"

"Don't they need an official referee, or something?" I whisper to Jess, who shakes his head.

"This isn't an official battle," he replies. "If this were a Gym battle, or a League battle, yes, they would need a certified referee. This is more of a skirmish, really. But if need be, I'll call it as I see it from the sidelines."

Uh. Zeke might not like that.

Oh, what do I care?

I grin fiercely. "Go for it."

Jess gazes at me for a second, then curls his lip in the smallest of mischievous smirks.

"Any time you're ready," he calls, and Zeke bestows upon him a frosty look that's colder than the ice we've just trampled through.

Jess winks at me. I grin back.

Payback – for Zeke rushing me in the practise match at Applesap Farm.

I like it.

"You ready, Stepbrother?" Chloe calls.

"Don't call me that," Zeke retorts, and I nearly laugh.

Chloe tosses her Pokéball, and, as if hastily trying to keep up, Zeke immediately throws his.

"Go, Toby!"

"Go–uh–"

Right. So not only is he _actually _battling Santos, he's pitting him _first_.

What an idiot.

And he's _still _refusing to accept Santos' name.

Both Pokémon take to the makeshift field, and everyone makes some sort of noise of vague surprise.

They're both Teddiursa.

But Chloe's is bigger. And somehow more manly.

"Two Teddiursa," Jess says, interested. "I wonder how this will turn out."

"Yay, Santos!" I call, just to spite Zeke.

At the sound of his name, Santos perks his ears and looks around for me, sniffing the air hopefully.

Jess and I laugh.

"See?" Jess says. "Told you he'd expect cheese."

"Santos?" Chloe repeats. "Oh, is that a _boy _Teddiursa? It looks more like a girl."

"That's what I said!" I exclaim.

"Shut up, _everyone_!" Zeke snaps, annoyed. "Teddiursa, use Scratch!"

Santos either isn't paying attention, or just ignores him.

Whatever the reason, instead of obeying Zeke's command, Santos spots his opponent, gives a gleeful cry, and bounds over.

To everyone's mystified bemusement, the two Pokémon bump noses in what _must _be a greeting, or something, and proceed to rub their round cheeks together happily.

"Uh… are they meant to do that?" I ask Jess, sceptical.

"No," he replies. "Not usually. It actually looks like they know each other." He frowns. "But that can't be right."

"What the hell is going on?" Zeke demands furiously. "Teddiursa, _attack _it! I told you to use Scratch!"

"Ursa!" Santos replies stubbornly, patting his opponent's paw. They rub faces again, and Santos gives Toby's cheek an affectionate lick.

Wait.

That _must_ have looked the same way to everybody.

Oh, _awkward_.

I glance at Zeke, who has visibly blanched, his face mottling.

"_Actually_," I say in an undertone to Jess, "it looks like they're _more than friends_, if you know what I mean."

"That's messed up," Jess replies, sounding mildly disturbed.

I can't _not _say it. "Does that mean Santos is–?"

Jess interrupts quickly. "Don't say it."

But he's _definitely _thinking what I'm thinking.

Santos is gay.

Well. This is exciting.

"Toby, stop it!" Chloe calls, frustrated. "This is a _battle_! You're meant to be trying to beat it!"

"Ursa," he replies, giving her a sad look over his shoulder. Santos snuggles him.

It's possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen.

And it's about to blow Zeke's fuse.

"Enough of this!" he snaps, more red-faced than a Charmeleon. "Teddiursa, Return!"

"Ursa!" Santos cries in alarm, before he disappears in a flash of red light.

Toby makes an anguished sort of noise, before he, too, is recalled.

Zeke's face is twisted into an expression of disgust. He looks so uncomfortable I almost feel sorry for him.

Almost.

"Zeke–" I call, but he talks over me as if I haven't spoken. Jerk.

"Fine! One-on-one!"

Chloe sticks her hand in her pocket with a confident smile. "Have it your way. Go, Molly!"

She flings another Pokéball, and a small shape materialises. A shape that is round-bodied, round-eared, and so familiar to me I'd have been ashamed of myself if I hadn't recognised it immediately.

"You train a _Marill_?"

My voice squeaks with excitement. I nearly jump up from the rug, and only Jess' hand against my arm stops me, reminding me of the battle.

Chloe grins at me. "Isn't she the most adorable thing you've ever seen?"

I beam. "Can I play with her?"

"Sure!"

I clap my hands excitedly.

A real Marill! And I can _hug it_! This is like a dream come true!

"Grace," Jess whispers in my ear. "I think Zeke might hit you if you're not careful."

"You don't understand," I reply excitedly, in hushed undertones, turning to bestow upon him a bright-eyed, giddy grin. "I _love _Marill! I've always wanted one!"

"That's great," he replies, fighting laughter. "But be excited in a minute. We have to watch the battle first."

He smiles fondly, giving my hair an affectionate ruffle.

In the meantime, Rex has taken his place opposite Molly.

"Rex," Zeke growls, "If you fall in love, too, I swear to Arceus I'll release you."

Rex tosses a confused look over his shoulder. "Dile?"

"Right," Zeke says shortly. "Go! Start her off with a Water Gun!"

Whipping back around, Rex sucks in a huge breath, expelling it in a jet of water that hits Molly squarely in the face and knocks her off her feet.

"Oh!" I gasp, wincing as she hits the ground.

"Molly, retaliate with Bubble!" Chloe calls, unperturbed.

Molly quickly regains her footing, frowning at Rex and blasting him with a stream of shiny bubbles that explode upon impact with his skin. He hisses in a combination of surprise and pain.

He directs another Water Gun at her. She retorts with another Bubble.

"We're not getting anywhere like this," Jess mutters.

I glance at him. "What?"

"They're both Water-type Pokémon," he explains. "Water-type Moves aren't very effective against either of them. If Zeke wants to win, he's going to need a better strategy. We'll be here all afternoon, at this rate."

Chloe must overhear, because she abruptly changes tactics.

"Molly, Tackle attack, now!"

Cutting off the Bubble attack without warning, Molly throws herself forward, smacking her full body weight into Rex and effectively knocking him to the ground.

Zeke scowls. "Rex, use Bite!"

Rex wriggles out from underneath, snapping his fierce little jaws and sinking his teeth into Molly's soft, pudgy body.

I wince sympathetically, having been on the receiving end of that attack one too many times.

"Don't give up!" Chloe calls, balling her fist in determination. "Defense Curl!"

Molly sucks in a breath, her little face contorting. Her blue skin glows faintly.

"What's she doing?" I whisper curiously.

"Raising her own Defense stat," Jess replies. "Rex's attacks will inflict less damage on her now."

Clever.

"Use Water Gun now, while he's close!" Chloe calls, and before Rex can squirm away, Molly blasts him in the chest with her own fierce Water Gun.

In retrospect, it's quite a short battle. In fact, the match is over in a matter of minutes.

When Zeke recalls the defeated Rex, I can tell it's going to be a grisly afternoon. His pride heavily bruised, he shoots Chloe a quick, ice-blue glower of acknowledgement, shoves his hands in his pockets, and stalks off into the trees.

"Where's he going?" Chloe asks, pausing her raining of praise upon Molly to watch him leave. She frowns, bemused.

"Probably just to cool off," I reply, shrugging. Part of me feels like I should be going after him, just to make sure he's alright.

But screw that.

Chloe rejoins us on the picnic rug, beaming brilliantly. "That was fun."

"Of course it was," Jess replies. "You won."

She grins unabashedly.

I'm hardly listening; my eyes are on Molly the Marill, who is sitting contentedly in Chloe's arms. Catching me looking, Chloe laughs. "Okay. Here. Molly, give our new friend Grace a cuddle."

"Marill! Mar!"

The next second, I'm holding my arms out eagerly, and she's throwing her round body at me. She collides with my stomach with a soft thump, and I squeeze excitedly.

Oh my god. Someone grab a camera. Right now.

Molly's skin is cool to the touch, and smooth, but tight, too – like a ball. It tightens and loosens a little as she breathes; she feels like a swelling balloon.

She sits happily in my lap, her shiny, orb-like tail bobbing in the breeze, nibbling on snacks we take turns offering her. Chloe lets Toby back out, and Jess calls Shep and Dash out, too.

I consider letting out El Scorchio – I _want _to give him a stretch and some fresh air – but I don't. I know it would have disastrous consequences.

Especially when there's a flammable picnic rug added to the equation.

So I just hug Molly quietly, watching her ears twitch away madly. It's like they never rest; the tiniest movement sets them off.

"She's always listening," Chloe says presently, watching me watch Molly's ears. "Marill have the best sense of hearing; it's extremely acute. Molly can pick up on danger from miles away." She grins proudly. "She makes a great tracking Pokémon."

I rest my chin atop Molly's soft head and send Jess a doleful look of longing.

"I know what you're about to say," he says, a wry smile twitching around his lips.

"I'm going to say it anyway," I reply, hugging Molly tighter. "I want a Marill."

He laughs, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well, maybe you'll catch one someday."

"Someday is too far away," I whine. "I want one _now_."

"Well, you can't have Molly," Chloe interjects quickly, poking her tongue out playfully. "She's mine."

"Rill!" Molly adds, wriggling in my arms.

"No!" I protest, clamping down on her. "Stay here! Love _me_ instead!"

But I let her go, watching her sadly as she waddles back to Chloe.

Jess pats my shoulder comfortingly. "There, there. Marill aren't too uncommon. I'm sure if we look hard enough, we'll come across one."

I'll keep my metaphorical fingers crossed.

And maybe my real ones, too, for good measure.

"Chloe," Jess says presently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "How long have you had your Teddiursa?"

She cocks her head. Her long brown ponytail spills over her shoulder. "Maybe a week. Why?"

Jess nods to himself. "I was just thinking about Toby and Santos' behaviour. Did you catch Toby in the forest at the base of Snowtop Mountain?"

She nods, tossing her fringe out of her eyes. "Is that where Stepbrother got his?"

"It is," Jess replies. "Your Teddiursa were probably… friends–" He chooses his wording carefully "–before they were caught."

Chloe beams. "It's like fate – we were clearly _meant _to meet you guys."

Jess and I share a sceptical look.

Really, it's just chance. And we're probably the first Trainers to come down Snowtop Mountain after them. She's getting a little bit carried away.

"Clearly," I reply, trying not to sound too patronizing.

Chloe sighs, lying back against the rug. "Friends brought together by two Pokémon lovers. It has a nice ring to it."

"It sounds like the storyline for a smutty romance novel," Jess mutters to me, sounding disturbed.

I have to say, I quite agree.

XD

We finish our lunch, chatting away with Chloe and Ebony, who occasionally adds a comment here and there. Eventually, though, conversation runs dry, and I know it's time we keep moving.

Zeke still hasn't returned.

Jess and I share a knowing look.

I fold my arms. "I'm not going this time."

Jess sighs. "Grace–"

"No," I interrupt stubbornly. "Let's just go. He can catch us up."

"As much as Zeke is a douche bag, we can't just leave him here," Jess replies. Across the clearing, Chloe and Ebony are packing up their belongings.

I say nothing.

"Hey," Jess says quietly, touching my arm to get my attention. A funny feeling squiggles through my stomach. I glance up from his fingers; his hazel eyes are flecked with concern. "What happened with you guys?"

"Nothing," I reply shortly, unable to hold his gaze. I stare at the blades of grass bending and shimmering in the breeze, willing the warmth from my cheeks. My arm feels weirdly sensitive where he brushed it. Finally, I make a noise of irritation and clamber to my feet. "Fine. I'll go get him. Do you mind getting everything ready?"

"Sure," he replies easily, but he still looks bothered.

I leave him in the clearing and stomp into the trees. "I'm taking Shep. C'mon, Shep!"

The forest is unthreatening; the trees are lightly spread and bright where the sun filters through the leaves. If I turn back, I can spot dots of colour from the clearing.

But I still feel better having Shepherd trotting at my heels. His paws pad against the grassy undergrowth, his bushy tail swishing as it brushes against bushes. He bounds eagerly ahead but keeps close, sniffing around curiously.

Such a happy explorer.

"We're looking for Zeke," I tell him, and he looks at me, his amber eyes astute. "You know? About yea high, black hair, bad attitude. Smells kinda funky."

"Grrrowl!"

"Yeah. That's the one."

I have no idea what he's saying, but it's fun pretending.

Enthused by the prospect of an assignment, Shep sniffs at the ground eagerly, trotting off between the trees. I follow him, only half-heartedly searching for Zeke.

Truthfully, I'm hesitant to find him – what am I supposed to say when I do? I have no interest in talking to him.

I wish Jess had gone instead of me. Even though he and Zeke don't get along, it probably would have been better if it had been him. I have a bad feeling this is going to go disastrously wrong.

But I suppose it can't really get much worse.

Eventually, Shepherd perks up. "Grrrowl!"

He turns excitedly to me, then looks back. There's a small arrangement of rocks up ahead, and Zeke is perched on one of them.

"Good work, Shep," I mutter, ruffling his chest like Jess does. He nudges my hand and looks pleased with himself. "Wait here, okay?"

He plonks his tiger-striped butt down on the earth, and I leave him there, venturing ahead by myself.

Zeke makes no indication that he's heard me coming, but I know he has. I reach the rocks and hover wordlessly, my arms crossed, wondering how the next two minutes is going to go down.

"What's he doing here?" Zeke eventually asks flatly, not looking up.

"Saving time," I reply shortly. "And protecting me."

"Rapists won't get you out here," he says.

"Psychopathic homicidal maniacs might," I retort.

The conversation dies, probably because we're both spitting words at each other like they're poisoned darts.

I don't have time for this. And I'm getting sick of feeding his sulking temper tantrums.

I say, my voice clipped, "We're leaving now."

I turn around and march back to Shep, who immediately gets up again.

"Grace," Zeke half-calls hesitantly.

"I don't want to talk to you," I reply shortly. Well, it's the truth. "Let's go, Shep."

I don't look over my shoulder to see if Zeke is following.

XD

Somehow, without discussion, the decision is made that we'll continue the journey to Olivine City with our newfound friends. We wander along the dirt path until sunset, chattering away, and stop in a roadside clearing to make camp.

"Grace," Chloe says, appearing at my side. "Wanna camp with us tonight? It'll be like a girly sleepover!" She grins hugely, her dark eyes enthused.

I almost glance to Zeke for permission – but whoever said I needed to take him into account? He'll be glad to have the tent all to himself for once.

"Sure. Okay."

I've never had a sleepover before. Don't they usually include things like romantic movies, truckloads of chocolate and tons of make up?

None of which we have.

But whatever. The little girl in me is still pretty excited nonetheless.

We set up the tents in a rough semi-circle, facing the soon-to-be campfire. Chloe and Ebony's tent is the biggest of the three; compared to Jess' lopsided little swag it's like a castle. Surprisingly, it doesn't appear to have that much more room inside than Zeke and mine.

Weird.

I let the sisters set themselves up first, and wait to be ushered in before I haul in my sleeping bag. The three beds are cramped together with Chloe in the middle, and I wonder if we'll be able to sleep properly. My brain is yelling _CLAUSTROPHOBIA!_ at me ten-fold.

I ignore it, and return to the campsite with the others, where Zeke's working on a fire, and Jess is working on dinner. I join the side of the latter, hugging my knees as I watch him stirring up the soup.

I didn't even realise he'd prepared it while we were at the Pokémon Centre. But then, I wasn't exactly in the most observant mood those last few days.

"Do you cook much at home?" I ask inquisitively, taking an appreciative whiff of what smells like Pidgey and sweet corn.

Jess grins at me. "Is this a Question?"

I poke my tongue out.

"I don't cook much," he says, obediently. "But Mom did teach me a few easy recipes. Good thing she did; we'd be going hungry tonight, otherwise."

"Yes," I reply, lacing my voice with light sarcasm. "All hail Jesse, the gracious provider."

He nods once in mock satisfaction. "As it should be."

I whack his arm. He shoulders me back.

We chow down on the soup, huddled around the flickering campfire. Even Zeke accepts his bowl without batting an eyelash, to my surprise (and suspicion). He'd normally make some snide comment about Jess, especially if he knew he'd prepared the meal.

I glance at him across the fire, but he offers nothing.

Maybe he's just tired of being a dick all the time.

Or maybe it's something else.

Do I care?

No.

The Pokémon are arranged in a large circle that surrounds the campsite. From the top, there's Shep, Dash, Rex, Toby and Santos (who we decided not to prise apart; Zeke is studiously ignoring them), Molly the Marill, Ebony's timid Sunkern (very originally nicknamed 'Sunny'), and El Scorchio, who's further away than the rest, but close enough for Shep to keep an eye on in case he decides to make a runner.

He's examining his food dubiously. I watch him poke at it a bit, but not eat. When he sits back decidedly from his bowl, I take a breath, summon my courage, and get up with my half-empty soup bowl.

"Hey."

He turns those lamp-like yellow eyes on me, looking unimpressed with my company.

"You want to try some of this instead?"

I edge closer to him, bending as quickly as possible to drop the bowl at his side, and retreating. I don't think I'm as inconspicuous as I'd hoped; he stares flatly at me.

"If you don't like the Pokémon food, you can have some of my dinner."

"Ma."

He turns away from the bowl.

I fold my arms, cheeks flaming as he makes a fool of me. "But you didn't even try it."

He shoots me a stubborn glare. "Ma. Slugma."

"Fine." I stoop to retrieve it, hoping like hell he won't take the opportunity to singe off my hair.

As if reading my mind, he snorts a tiny tendril of flame, and I squeal, leaping back.

"Maa." He looks deeply amused.

Har-har. Top-rate comedy. Little pest.

I scowl darkly at him. "You can't say I'm not trying."

Then I stomp back to sit by Jess, who gives me a sympathetic look.

It seems everyone's tuned in to watch the show; Chloe looks between me and El Scorchio, and says, observantly, "He doesn't like you very much."

"No," I agree, pleasantly sarcastic. "He doesn't."

"Why?" she asks curiously.

"When I know," I reply shortly. "I'll tell you."

Jess nudges my shoulder, and I retract the spikes.

It's not her fault. I shouldn't be lashing out at her.

"Sorry," I say, flushing. "It's a little frustrating."

"She's been trying to befriend him for weeks," Jess adds.

"_She_," Zeke says suddenly, flashing Jess a black scowl, "can speak for herself."

"Sod off, Zeke," Jess replies, losing his patience for once.

Zeke glances at me (finally), but all I offer is a cold stare.

What, he thinks he can treat me like dirt, then turn around and expect me to back him up?

Please.

Without another word, Zeke jerks up from the fire and stalks off to the tent.

"He's pretty bad tempered," Chloe, ever the observant one, observes.

"Tell me about it," I reply with a sigh.

Jess touches my arm gently for attention and says quietly, "Sorry."

I shrug. "For what?"

But he gives me a shrewd look. I can't hold his gaze.

I stare firmly at the fire instead, and say, "I'm not going to stop you from calling him out when he's being a dick. He needs to grow the hell up."

"I don't know what he's done to upset you," Jess replies in a quiet, serious mutter, "but you don't really mean that, Grace."

An-n-nd we're done here.

"Is everyone finished?" I ask, perhaps a little too loudly, getting up.

"Grace," Jess says urgently, pulling on my sleeve.

I fire over my shoulder, "I don't want to talk about it."

At his surprised, wounded expression, I feel a sharp stab of sickening guilt and add, more gently, "It's stupid anyway."

"But–"

"Jess. Please."

He falls silent.

I collect everybody's dirty dishes, simmering away quietly. _Why _is he pushing it so much? It's irritating me, and I really, _really_ don't like being annoyed with him.

That emotion is reserved for Zeke. I'm not used to feeling angry about anyone else.

Well, except maybe my father.

But he doesn't count.

Since there's no stream nearby, Chloe gets Molly the Marill to help me with the dishes. We create a little working line, with me scrubbing the plates she blasts with water.

After a minute, Jess comes over to help dry. But he doesn't offer conversation.

Perfect. Now both of them are ticked off with me.

Way to go, Grace.

I suppose it's kind of good, though; right now, I'm not too sure what to say to him, anyway.

But I feel damn rotten. And the silence cuts me to the core.

To make up for it, I chat away to Molly, whose cheerful responses make me feel a bit better. Or at least, let me deceive myself into thinking I'm feeling better.

I'm startled half to death when I turn to add the plate I've just cleaned to the to-be-dried pile and almost put it on Rex's head. He's watching me with intent curiosity.

I gasp. He blinks his huge eyes. "Don't–_sneak up _on people like that!"

"Dile." He plonks his butt down, swishing his dinosaur tail in the grass.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Fine. You can sit there. Only if you don't cause any trouble."

He snaps his jaws, presumably in assent, and pokes his head around me to watch Molly drenching the pot.

"Dile!" He sucks in a huge breath.

"No!" I bellow, impulsively shielding my face as the tell-tale sound of gushing water fills the campsite.

But he hasn't blasted me. Thank god.

I lower my arms. Instead, he's picked up the top plate from the 'dry' pile, and hosed it down with Water Gun.

Fail.

"I just cleaned that one."

He blinks, uncomprehending, and looks proudly at the plate. "Dile!"

Well, at least he's trying to help, I suppose.

"Here," I say, taking a few of the remaining dishes from Molly's pile. "You can wash these ones. _Not–_" I add sharply, indicating the finished stack, "those ones. They're already done."

He makes a happy hissing noise and gets to work.

When the dishes are done, we put them away, and start recalling the Pokémon.

"Toby!" Chloe calls, holding out his Pokéball. "Time for bed."

"Ursa!" he protests, still squished up with Santos. They give her twin, sad-baby-Pokémon eyes.

Wuah – they're both so cute I could eat them!

Chloe just sighs dejectedly. "Fine. You two can guard the campsite. But don't wander off, okay? Stay close to the tents."

I glance over at Zeke's silent tent, wondering if he's going to come out to get Rex.

The Totodile in question is standing by my feet, looking up at me expectantly.

I look down at him, and, as if on cue, he shoots a jet of water into my face.

"Rex!" I splutter furiously.

He hisses delightedly.

Ugh. Fan-freaking-tastic. Just when I thought we might be getting somewhere.

Scowl.

I stand there, glaring at him, icy droplets raining from my chin, suddenly shivering.

Well, at least I'm still standing. That's a definite plus.

"Come on," I snap hotly, my temper shot, stomping over to the tent. Rex scarpers along obediently at my heels.

I reach down and unzip the flap angrily, not waiting for Zeke to speak. "Toby is looking after Santos. Here's Rex."

Then I scoot the Totodile inside with my foot, zip the flap shut again, and stomp off.

XD

The girly sleepover doesn't go quite how I'd expected.

Well, it does, but I don't enjoy it as much as I thought I would.

We all get comfortable in our pyjamas, sitting cross-legged on the sleeping bags. Chloe produces a bag of snacks, and Ebony digs out a slightly tattered, glossy tween magazine.

After half an hour of personality quizzes filled with generic questions ("You're on your way to school, and you're attacked by a wild Pokémon. You: A) run away – I'm going to be late for class!; B) call for help so it can be taught a lesson by someone more experienced; C) battle it – my Pokémon are strong enough to handle it; D) catch it – it's a perfect opportunity to gain a new team member!") , I've learned my Nature is Jolly, my ideal Starter Pokémon is Chikorita, my Trainer stereotype is Lass (whatever the hell that is), and the Pokémon Type that suits my personality is Normal.

Oh, and if I were a berry, I'd apparently be a Pecha.

Awesome. I feel thoroughly educated now.

The magazine goes away, and the sisters move on to what they call 'boy talk'.

Sceptical? Me, too.

I quickly realise, though, that 'boy talk time' is really just code for 'incentive to interrogate Grace about her love life'.

"So," Chloe says, a sly smile sliding across her cheeks. "What's the deal with you guys?"

I frown, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know," she replies crytpically.

No, really. I don't.

"What exactly _is _between you and Zeke? I mean, why is he so adamant about making sure everybody knows you're not biologically related?"

I have no freaking idea. Ask him.

"We're weird like that," I reply, shrugging. "We've never really known what to tell people."

Chloe raises one eyebrow.

I don't like that look one bit.

"Sure," she replies, rolling her eyes at Ebony. "So you're seriously trying to tell us you have _no _feelings for your _stepbrother_ whatsoever?"

Whoa. Hold on a second. "Feelings? Like, _romantic_ feelings?"

Instantly, my cheeks are afire.

"She's blushing!" Chloe giggles.

Good god. This is torturous.

"I don't–" I begin, then lower my voice. What if Zeke can hear all of this? Oh, _god_. "I don't have any suss feelings like that for Zeke. Eww, guys. Seriously."

They just chortle away.

"You can tell us," Chloe promises, grinning widely. "Who are _we_ going to tell?"

"No, guys, really," I insist, my stomach churning. _Please_, _PLEASE, _God, don't let Zeke hear. This is embarrassing enough already_. _"What can I say to make you guys believe me?"

"Nothing," Chloe replies, her voice a chirpy sing-song of gossiping delight. "But you might be able to convince me if you dish on Jesse."

Great. Round two.

Ding-ding!

"Why do I have to have feelings for my companions?" I whine. "Seems a little black and white, don't you think?"

"Oh, come _on_, Grace," Chloe replies. "Girls and guys can _never _just be friends. Someone _always _ends up having feelings for the other."

Wait, really?

Does that mean Jess likes _me_, because I don't have feelings for him?

Much.

Well, maybe a little.

Argh! I don't know!

I just want them to stop pressuring me so I can get my thoughts straight.

_Wait_ – what about _Zeke_?

FGJ%SK#ADSLK!

No. Not possible. Their theory is wrong.

Zeke and I are _walking proof_.

Ugh. What a nauseating thought. Brain, _why did you go there_?

"So spill," Chloe continues, poking her tongue out. "Is there something between you and Farm Boy?"

I don't like how personal the nickname sounds, falling from her lips.

She doesn't know him like I do – she hasn't earned the right to speak so familiarly about him yet, like they're friends, or something.

Whoa. Possessive, much, Grace? It's not like you've known him that much longer, yourself. How can you claim any rights to him?

I'm not sure how I feel about any of this.

Well, uncomfortable, for a start.

"No," I reply firmly heat radiating from my face. "There's nothing between us. Now can we talk about something else?"

"Aww, _you're_ no fun," Chloe pouts. She sighs deeply. "Fine. You know, last night, Ebony and I were discussing which Gym Leader we thought was the hottest. I personally think Brawly from Hoenn, but Ebony likes Falkner–"

Oh, you've _got _to be kidding.

"I'm just going to grab a drink, guys," I say hastily, cutting across her. "I'll be right back."

I escape the tent, sighing with relief when I get outside. The cool night air curls around me like a refreshing embrace, and I hug myself for warmth.

I don't think I want to go back in there. Not with the walls of the damn tent closing in with every question fired at me.

And such meaningless, _stupid _conversation. I feel like I need to send out a rescue mission to recover the remaining brain cells that didn't shrivel up and die in the last ten minutes.

I brush my bangs out of my face, suck in a breath of frigid air, and tilt my head back to look up at the stars. They're not very vivid tonight; the grey-purplish clouds are like a misty veil.

The remains of the fire are crackling as they slowly die. I flick my eyes from the sky, down to watch the shadows dancing in the glow of the embers, and my heart jumps with surprise.

Jess is sitting there, watching me quietly.

The fire casts dark shadows under his eyes and nose, and paints his cheeks luminous orange. He looks totally different in the half-light.

"Hey."

The atmosphere is weird between us. I'm not annoyed with him anymore, but I don't know what to say, since the last conversation was when I shut down on him.

So maybe _he's_ angry?

But he doesn't look annoyed. He just looks sort of… contemplative, with a side of troubled and a garnish of glum. And sort of wistful, or something.

"Hey," I reply softly.

Well. He initiated conversation. I guess it's okay for me to go over.

I certainly can't _not _go over now.

I shuffle awkwardly to the fire, trying to look casual, but not like I'm deliberating. Or being awkward.

Which I am.

I hug myself harder, uncomfortable. "What're you still doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he replies. He's doing the open-necked shirt thing again, which doesn't help at all. I can't help glancing at his olive collarbones.

My stomach flips.

"Aren't you cold?" I manage, dragging my eyes away when he glances up.

"Aren't _you_?" he returns, nodding at me pensively. "You're the one in pyjamas."

Yes, but I've also dragged my japara and my boots on. "I'm okay."

Wait.

_I'm_ _in my pyjamas._

I shift uncomfortably where I'm standing, trying to surreptitiously zip up my jacket to cover the Silph. Co shirt. There's not a whole lot I can do about the Skitty flannel pants, though.

"What are you doing?" Jess asks, rubbing his fingers together in slow, rhythmic circles. I wonder if it's a habit of his.

"Escaping," I admit, releasing a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding. It expels in the form of a short, bark-like laugh, very unlike my usual one.

Jess picks up on this, too; he shoots me a strange look. "Dare I ask?"

I make myself comfortable on the grass with an exaggerated sigh. "It's nothing terrible. I just…" I glance over. He's watching me again. "I don't know if I get along all that well with girls."

Now he looks downright confused. Obviously, whatever he'd been expecting, that wasn't it.

Far from it, I'd say.

I shrug. "I don't know. The stuff they were talking about, and getting excited about…" I trail off, thinking about it. I'm not sure whether I should be thankful or worried that I feel different to them. "It just didn't interest me. It was all… dumb."

Jess is quiet, considering me musingly.

I flush, and am thankful for the red glow of the fire. "But it's stupid. It's probably just tonight – not a reliable example, and stuff. I think I'd get along fine with other girls. It's just 'cause I never had a lot of _girl_ friends to be all girly with. It's like I never learned how to _be_ super girly, you know?"

No, he doesn't. But if I keep speaking, the silence is filled, and it's not so obvious that he's doing that nerve-wracking, figuring-me-out thing again.

And I don't add the part about lacking _boy _friends, too. Or _any _friends, for that matter.

That just sounds pathetic, even in my head.

"You're different, Grace," Jess says finally, resting his elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers. He surveys me over them, seeming suddenly much older than he actually is. And very wise. "Maybe _because_ you didn't associate with other girls, and girliness_._" He shrugs. "To me, you have more substance."

Aww, sweet.

Embarrassingly, I'm so touched/embarrassed/self-conscious (take your pick) that I can hardly look at him.

As sad as it is, compliments are so uncommon I have no idea how to respond to them.

I mean, what do you say to that? 'Thanks'?

Actually, maybe. Could be a good start.

Or maybe I could just get my butt in gear and actually set things right after this afternoon.

That could work, too.

"Jess–"

"I'm sorry I pushed you about Zeke," he says across me, like he knew what I was going to say. It amazes me how he always does that.

I glance up. He's looking at me intently. "I know you don't like to talk about personal stuff. And I know I should have been more respectful of that – I am, I swear. I just _also _know it's important for you to resolve your issues with him – for _you_."

Good god, he's intuitive.

He keeps speaking. "It – frustrated me. That you were being so stubborn." He laughs once – short, clipped. "But it's your decision; you know what's right for you, and for your relationship with Zeke. In fact, you know best. So, I just – shouldn't have pushed."

I suck in my bottom lip, letting the silence fill the campsite when he finishes.

I should say something – I know I should. But how do I respond after a speech like that?

He's watching me. Hopeful. Waiting.

"Truth is," I choke out, mortified when my nerves make my voice waver and break, "I shouldn't be not telling you things, anyway. You share everything with me, but…" I trail off, shaking my head. When I force myself to meet his gaze again, his eyes are gentle, watchful, knowing. Understanding. "I'm like a locked safe."

"I know."

Of course he knows. He knows everything.

"I want you to open up to me, Grace," he admits, looking a little red-faced himself, for once. Though it could very easily be from the fire. It probably is. "But I don't want to force you to."

I wish I always knew what to say, like he does. I feel like I should say something impressive and perceptive and compassionate, like him. But I don't even know how to come up with the things he says; my brain simply doesn't think like his does.

I wonder what that says about me (again). I have a sneaking suspicion it's not good.

In the end, I decide to go with something truthful. You can't really ever go wrong with the truth.

"Honestly… I just – and this is going to sound silly–"

"No, it won't."

"It will," I reply firmly, wetting my lips. My cheeks are on fire. "But anyway. The truth is, I don't really know _how_ to open up to people."

The smile he gives me then is so utterly kind I almost cry. For absolutely no reason.

Instead, I say, "I'm not looking for sympathy, or trying to sound pitiful or anything, but I really haven't ever had anyone to open up _to._" I make a disgusted noise, part frustrated. "That sounds so bad. It's not – coming out like it sounds in my head."

"You're doing fine," Jess replies, firmly reassuring. "And I'm not judging, remember?"

The line rings with clarity in my head; strikes me for some reason. Gives me a bit of confidence, somehow.

And really, why should I have any problems talking to Jess? I _know _he's a great guy, and a good friend – I don't doubt him, or his motives, or anything. So what's the problem?

I just need to find the way to put my thoughts into words.

I can do that. Right?

Right.

With my newfound (though slightly wavering) confidence, I suddenly want to tell him everything. Just get it _all_ off my chest.

"My parents," I begin, sucking in a shaky breath, "separated. When I was really little. I don't even remember them being together. And–" I pause, fidgeting with my pyjama strings, knowing the next part will sound _so_ sob-story. But it's not like I can exactly help it "–I don't remember my mom. Like, _at all_."

Jess is quiet, listening.

So I continue. "My dad raised me. Kind of. He wasn't really around much – he was always busy with work, and stuff. I was alone a lot, except when I was at school. But I wasn't that lonely, or anything. Like, I wasn't miserable, even though my mom never visited, and I was never sent to stay with her, or to see her. Nothing. She just… wasn't a part of my life."

And now we get to the real story.

"Until now, apparently. Because my dad suddenly decided I should go meet her."

I can virtually _see _the light bulb flick on inside his head as he makes the connection. "Your mom lives in Kanto." His eyes are wide and round with shock. "This is happening – you mean – like – _now_."

I nod. Loose bangs of hair fall into my face; I tuck them back nervously. "When we get to Olivine, we're getting on a ferry that'll take us pretty much straight to her doorstep."

"Grace…"

He's so quiet. He appears to be more stunned than I expected. It looks like he needs a moment to take it all in and process.

God knows that would've been nice before we left.

"Look," I say hastily, after a few seconds' silence in which I grow increasingly embarrassed. "It's all good. It's no huge deal; it's probably time to meet her anyhow–"

"Don't play it down, Grace," Jess says firmly. "This _is_ a huge deal. It's a massive deal. It could affect the rest of your life."

Okay, now he's making a mountain out of a molehill. It's not _that _bad. I'm sure there are other people in the world who are dealing with much bigger things.

"I'm dealing with it fine."

"What's the deal with Zeke?" Jess asks suddenly, frowning a little. "Where does he fit in with… all of this?"

"Camilla – that's his mom – decided he needed to learn stuff about himself," I reply, shrugging. To be honest, I don't really remember why Zeke had to tag along anymore. He really did get dealt a pretty rough blow. "Something about learning lessons about life, and growing up, and other such stuff. Oh, and I needed a chaperone, too." I pause and finish lamely with, "Yeah."

Jess rubs his bottom lip with his thumb. "No wonder he's so… prickly."

"Yeah," I reply. "He's got a pretty sweet life back home. I don't think he's coping with the change very well."

We're silent for a moment.

"And the thing the _other_ day with Zeke," I say eventually, "Is just stupid." Actually, it seems even _more_ stupid now that I'm considering recounting it. So _petty_. And it _is _petty and dumb – but it's still bothering me, and I can't magically change that. But I blow it off to Jess. "I mean _really _stupid. I'm not even going to go into detail. It's nothing, really."

Truth. But that doesn't mean I'm ready to talk to him yet.

Because I'm not. I'm still mad at him.

Ooh, boy am I still mad.

"It's hardly nothing if it still upsets you," Jess replies with a frown.

Oh, no. _Really_?

I touch my fingers to my face.

No, I'm not crying. Thank god. Then what–?

"I can just tell it upsets you," Jess explains, seeing my confusion. He smiles slightly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… you're kind of like an open book with your emotions."

Ah… yes. I never was very good at the whole 'stoic' thing.

I could probably take a leaf out of Zeke's book. At least he's managed to hide all his regular emotions underneath _RESENTMENT OF LIFE_.

Unless he really only has one emotion. Like a car stuck in neutral.

Now you're just being mean, Grace. He's not that bad.

Sometimes.

Okay, so he is. But there's still hope, right?

Right?

I flicker my gaze, which had glazed in my ridiculous internal monologue, and glance attentively at Jess, who's sudden movement has broken my stupor.

He's patting the earth beside him gently.

Well, okay. If you insist.

I crawl goofily over to where he's sitting, grunting as I flop over onto my butt beside him. He scoots closer until we're practically squished together like Toby and Santos. I can smell his scent – musky and sort of boyish, like… potato.

Wait, that's not boyish.

Maybe more like mushroom.

Oh, whatever. He smells boyish. And musky. And it's a nice smell.

Good god, my thoughts are all muddled tonight.

"Hey," I say quietly, my stomach knotting. I nudge his side gently. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before."

There's a considerable pause.

"Grace," Jess says, his voice low, and close to my ear. It feels somehow more intimate, though his tone hasn't changed. My skin tingles, all the way to my fingertips. "You can always tell me _anything_. I'll never think you're stupid, or make you feel inadequate or embarrassed."

He breaks off, and I can hear in his pause that he's still thinking. Don't ask me how.

In the end, he loops one arm snugly around my shoulders. It feels nice there; warm and secure. He's that much taller than me that he can rest his cheek on top of my head, which he proceeds to do, before exhaling slowly through his nose.

"I just want you to know you can trust me."

And I don't care that I've only known Jess for two weeks.

He's already the best friend I've ever had – the only_ true_ friend I've ever had.

And I don't feel foolish thinking that. Because I _know _deep down, it's true.

I feel at once incredibly grateful, intensely lucky, and so utterly undeserving that I'm overwhelmed by a rush of such strong emotion that I don't know what to do with it. It expels itself from my depressingly underdeveloped body in the form of fat tears that roll, one by one, down my cheeks.

I make no move to stop them. And Jess seems to get what I'm feeling; he doesn't speak again for a long time.

And so we sit and watch the fire die in companionable silence, the wick of the metaphorical candle of our friendship well and truly flickering with life.


	14. The Thirteenth Chapter!

**A/N: **One reader has admitted they're getting bored with this storyline. Guys, if you're finding the pace boring, or too slow, or repetitive, or ANYTHING, please let me know so I can do something about it! Thank you so much to that reviewer for speaking up; I'm going to work to move the storyline along a bit more.

Also, I've started another fic: _Renegade _(spies, traitors, schemes, romance, Pokemon battles, etc). So if you feel like exploring Team Magma with me, I'd love to have you on board! ;D

* * *

**~ Thirteen ~**

**On Making Progress and Gender Bending**

* * *

"Rex, Water Gun!"

Two days later, we're taking an impromptu lunch break after coming across an ill-fated Trainer along Route 39. Zeke, suddenly determined to defeat _every single Trainer on the planet, ever_, promptly challenged him to a battle, without consulting anybody else first.

Selfish brat.

"It's only ten thirty," Chloe comments, pulling a face and folding her arms, "I'm not even hungry yet."

We're sitting by the roadside, watching on with significant disinterest.

Seriously. This is the fourth one in two days.

It's getting old, fast.

I look up into the blue sky, squinting at the sun. "Fingers crossed it'll be a short one this time."

On the makeshift battlefield, Rex's fierce Water Gun is deftly avoided by the agile, opposing Sentret, who retaliates by scratching its claws in the dirt path and flicking dust everywhere in a Sand Attack that's extremely inconveniencing to those who are attempting an early lunch.

I spit out my mouthful of sandwich in disgust. There's more dirt in there than bread.

Gross.

I want to tell Zeke to hurry the hell up, but we're still not speaking. The silence has stretched into a five-day vendetta, and I'm not about to let my pride suffer the condemnation of breaking it.

Beside me, Jess stretches out his long legs and sighs. "We're wasting so much time." He mutters under his breath, so only I can catch it.

"Frustrating," I agree.

He nods. "We should be making more progress than this."

I flick my eyes to where Zeke's standing firmly in the dirt, conviction painted on his features. "We'll get there eventually."

Jess glances at me hesitantly. "It's not fair – the quicker you get it over with, the quicker you can return, right? Surely the procrastination is bothering you."

Actually, I haven't really been thinking about _it_ – the reason behind this whole stupid thing. I get all nervous and tense when I do. And I don't know what to think, anyway. It's all too complicated.

I shrug one shoulder lazily. "It's fine. I'm in no rush. Let him have his stupid battles."

Jess is quiet for a bit.

"Question Nine?" he offers eventually, shooting me a small smile.

I grin. "Ready when you are."

"Okay," he says, rearranging himself so he's facing me, and sitting up a bit. "What was your childhood dream?"

Ooh, good one.

"My childhood dream…" I murmur thoughtfully, casting my mind back all of ten years to a time when I was much smaller. Memories play across my brain like flickering slides, the colours too vivid in the ones that are stronger. "Well, obviously you know I always wanted a Pokémon. But that wasn't like my dream career or anything." I chew my lip for a second, my cheeks reddening. "It's kind of silly. I wanted to be a ballerina."

He gives me a '… _really?_' sort of look. I raise my hands apologetically. "Hey – give that look to my five-year-old self. It's not _my_ fault she was so unrealistic in her goal-setting. It's not like she knew how uncoordinated she'd be later in life."

He grins. "Next time I converse with your five-year-old self I'll tell her she should rethink her dreams. Don't worry – I'll let her down gently."

I laugh lightly, but sober quickly, glancing at him in a fleeting moment of inadvertent self-consciousness. "Actually, I had one dream that I always sort of hoped would come true one day."

He fixes me with an astute look. I can guarantee he already knows what I'm about to say. But to humour me, he says, "What was that?"

I glance down at my gritty sandwich triangle. "Even though I never knew her, I sort of always fantasised about my mom coming home – that she and Dad would get back together and we'd be a happy little family, and stuff."

When Jess just waits expectantly, I obediently continue. "I was so naïve. I truly believed that if my mom came back, Dad would spend less time at work, and more with me." I laugh shortly. "I don't know where I got that idea from. But once I'd come up with that theory, my brain just latched onto it and wouldn't let go."

Jess is watching me very seriously.

I clear my throat uncomfortably, cheeks blazing. "But as I got older, I became more indifferent to my dad. So my mom started to matter less. Eventually, she didn't matter at all." My mouth twists around the words, forming an expression that feels unpleasant. "That sounds terrible out loud."

Jess reaches up wordlessly, without warning, and gently brushes a piece of blonde from my eyes. "The terrible part, Grace, is that she wasn't around to be _able_ to matter to you."

Suddenly my brain has turned to fuzz; I'm so tongue-tied I can't put two words together. My heart is thumping like crazy in my chest.

Jess drops his hand, returning it calmly to his pocket, like he has no idea that it's just set my face on fire and my chest on overdrive.

Seriously. How can he _not_ hearmy pulse thumping? It feels so violent in my chest it's a wonder the whole clearing isn't echoing with the rhythmic pounding.

"It's not your fault, you know," he says quietly, so the others don't overhear. He glances at me, sees me not understanding, and elaborates. "The way you feel about your mom. It isn't your fault. I hope you don't feel like it is."

Honestly, when it comes to my mother, I really have no idea what I feel – if anything at all.

I nudge him with my foot, my eyes fixed determinedly on the brawling Pokémon. "Your turn."

Like always, he seems unhappy about the change of topic.

But, like always, he complies. "Now, I mean it this time. Don't judge."

My mouth twitches into a smirk. Evidently, this is going to be good. "When have I ever judged you?"

He rubs the back of his neck with one browned hand, his cheeks suddenly brighter than usual. With a bashful sort of glance in my direction, he divulges. "I wanted to be a super hero."

I grin delightedly. "But that's a perfectly legitimate childhood dream!"

"If a little unoriginal."

"At least you wanted to help people."

A boyish smile stretches across his cheeks. "I was going to have a squadron of Fire-type Pokémon fighting evil by my side. I was going to be the legendary Fire Man."

"Original," I reply, mouth quirking. "Though I don't really think you'd be able to claim all the glory if it was your Fire-type heroic Pokémon partners that were the real fire power."

"I didn't really think that far ahead," Jess admits. "But I did have a cool cape in mind."

I laugh.

"Of course," he continues, "Eventually I had to acknowledge that fighting crime all by myself wasn't a realistic enough approach to life."

"You could have joined the police force," I say, watching Rex snap his jaws on the Sentret's tail. "Officer Jenny fights evil every day."

"Yeah," Jess replies. Something in the way he says it sobers the mood. I glance at him, but he's watching the battle quietly.

"Jess?"

"Mmm?" he turns his head before dragging his eyes to me. "What's up?"

_Do you really want to run the farm for the rest of your life_? The question plays across the front of my mind in bold, neon red letters, practically screaming for me to voice it. It rolls to the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it hastily.

I don't want to say something that'll cause an argument. And who am I to stick my nose into the traditions of his family?

"Grace?" Jess' eyebrows quirk in concern.

"Nah," I reply, shrugging it off. "It's nothing."

He watches me, probably thinking it's something to do with me, and not him. "Are you sure?"

I want to say: _No. I think you're unhappy, and I think you should do something about it. _

But I don't.

"Yeah."

I already wish I'd said something. God, I'm such a scaredy-Abra.

The frustration of regret courses through me long after Zeke's battle ends, long after we've packed up and set off again, long after we've stopped to make camp for the night.

In fact, it's still gnawing at my insides as I curl up between Chloe and Ebony and try to sleep.

Well. That's what you get, Grace. Next time, speak up.

If there is a next time.

XD

According to Jess, we're under a day's walk from Olivine City.

Thank the merciful lord.

We've stopped for lunch (again), and I'm gnawing away at the crust of a bland, carrot sandwich.

I know, right? _Carrot_.

Unfortunately, our food supplies are starting to get low, so there's not a whole lot I can do about it.

I now know more about Chloe than I would ever have desired at any stage of my life. I know her favourite colour is purple, her favourite food is banana split, her favourite Pokémon is Seel, her favourite place is Lilycove City, her favourite hobby is shopping, her favourite pastime is shopping, her favourite _sport_ is shopping, her favourite accessory is her hair ribbon, her preferred Pokéball is Great Ball, her most frequently used Item is Super Potion, and she doesn't like avocado.

Oh, and she wants to be the Johto League Champion. Or a pop idol, alternatively.

Sadly, if you ask me in six months time, I'll probably still be able to reel off all those mundane little facts.

I've discovered the getting-to-know-you game is really not as fun with Chloe as it is with Jess, which is unfortunate, as Chloe rather seems to thoroughly enjoy talking about herself.

All the time.

"If I had to go into battle against a Ditto," she babbles away animatedly, ever the over-enthusiast, "I'd probably choose a dual-type like Relicanth. That way at least one of the Types would have some sort of advantage in battle."

I really don't care.

"Unless the second of its dual-types negates the effects of the first," Jess replies. He's always the one to humour her. I'm losing interest, and Zeke hasn't exercised his voice in about six days.

"Yeah, but which Pokémon has a dual-type like that?" Chloe retorts, folding her arms.

"Shedinja," Jess replies instantly. I detect a hint of smugness oozing from him when Chloe is appropriately stunned by this unexpected piece of knowledge.

Jess continues. "If you pitted two Shedinja against each other, neither would be able to use Bug-type moves, as Bug-types have no effect against Ghost-types. Therefore, they'd only be able to use Ghost-type moves against each other." Ngaw, he's such a smartie. "But then, Shedinja is a particularly special case, in that the match would be like a quick draw; the first to attack wins by default."

"Why?" Chloe asks curiously.

Ha. Who's a know-all now?

"Because Shedinja are susceptible only to moves that are super-effective against either Bug- or Ghost-types," Jess explains. "Not only that; any super-effective move is a KO by default, which means Shedinja only has to be hit by one super-effective attack to lose the match. All other moves have no effect, making Shedinja otherwise literally untouchable.

"But Ghost-type moves are super-effective against Ghost-type Pokémon, and since Ghost is one of its dual-types, Shedinja is basically super-effective against itself." He smirks a little into his sandwich crust, shooting me a furtive smile. "So, in answer to your question, in a battle against a Ditto, _I_ would probably pick Shedinja."

Humbled, Chloe stuffs her face with an apple that is possibly more bruised than her ego.

Jess settles back comfortably.

I lean close to his ear. "You know, you're kind of smart. Just thought you'd like to know."

I can tell when he grins; his cheek moves and lightly brushes mine. He clears his throat, then says under his breath, "Is it mean that I sort of wanted to shut her up?"

"No," I reply immediately. "Thank the godly Cresselia you did. I think I would have muted her with her stupid apple if you hadn't intervened."

"Well," Jess says, fighting laughter, "That was fortunate, then."

"Rather," I agree amicably.

Before us, Zeke is training Rex.

Sort of.

In the last few days he's started this weird exercise regime, which involves him running drills for Rex every time we stop for a break. Right now, he's got the water lizard running timed laps of the clearing.

On top of his consistent demands for battles, it's a wonder Zeke's Pokémon are even able to stand at the end of each day. The poor things must be utterly exhausted.

In my opinion, he really seems to be pushing them a little too hard.

But then, what the hell do I know about training Pokémon?

In the far corner, under the shade of a tree, Santos is curled in a ball. I watch Zeke hit the stopwatch and signal to Rex to take a break, then call to Santos, who doesn't show any sign of response.

"Bear-thing!" Zeke calls again. The nickname he's adopted is utterly appalling. How demoralising. "You're up."

Santos ignores him.

Frowning at the refusal, Zeke stomps over to the tree, reaching down to pick up the Teddiursa. "Come _on_. Don't think you're getting out of your exercises."

"Ursa!" Santos protests, straining out of Zeke's grasp. He scuttles gingerly closer to the base of the tree, curling into a tighter ball.

"Maybe he's intimidated," Jess raises his voice to suggest casually.

"Shut up, Applesap," comes Zeke's standard, snappy response to anything Jess says.

"Maybe he's hungry," Chloe offers.

"He's not," Zeke says shortly. "All the Pokémon just had lunch."

"Maybe he wants to digest his food before exercising," Chloe offers instead.

"He's had plenty of time to digest," Zeke retorts. He reaches again, cursing loudly when Santos lashes out at him with sharp little claws. "Mother–!"

Sucking angrily on his hand, he stands from the tree, his good hand clenched tightly around the stopwatch.

I turn my attention to Santos, who is making little bleating noises and clenching up his little face. It looks like he's in pain.

I voice this observation to Jess.

"If that's the case," Jess replies, frowning, "Zeke shouldn't be exercising him."

"Try telling that to Mr. Stubborn over there," I scowl.

"Zeke," Jess calls in a serious tone, "Santos looks–"

"Shut _up, _Applesap!"

"–LIKE. HE'S. IN. PAIN," Jess says loudly, enunciating each word in a clipped tone.

Zeke makes no indication that he's heard, or that he's even listening. Instead, realising that he's not going to get anywhere with Santos' exercises this afternoon, he recalls him, and orders that we pack up and move out, not looking at any of us.

Ugh, I swear to god, he can be_ such _a dickhead sometimes.

XD

By nightfall, Santos' condition has worsened.

After refusing his afternoon exercises when we stopped for a mid-afternoon rehydration, proving unwilling to participate in battle (effectively forfeiting the match for an extremely pissed-off Zeke), and blatantly ignoring his helping of dinner tonight, we're all sufficiently concerned.

"Stop whispering about him," Zeke snaps suddenly, causing me to jump and break off mid-sentence. I lean away reflexively from where I'm muttering collaboratively with Jess by the fire.

Zeke's eyes are a sharp, icy glare fixed on Jess. "He's _fine_. And it's not even any of your god damn business, _any of you_."

Switching his furious glare to me, he storms away.

My cheeks flaming, I glance at Jess, who shrugs and says, "Ignore him. And if he's not going to do anything about it, it would be irresponsible for us _not_ to step in. Therefore, it technically is our god damn business."

He's right. I'm getting pretty worried about Santos. Casting my mind back to lunch time, I'm doubtful that he actually did eat anything then, which means he hasn't eaten anything since breakfast. Even then, I'm pretty sure he only picked at his food.

Does that mean Santos is sick?

If he is, what in the world can we do this far from Olivine City?

"Do you have anything in the first aid kit that could help him?" I ask Jess, concerned.

He frowns at the fire, the shadows dancing across his furrowed eyebrows. "It's hard to know what to give him when we don't know what the problem is. Even then, most of the stuff left in the kit is for human first aid, not Pokémon. Somehow, I don't think this could be cured with a Potion."

Santos groans pitifully, the sad noise echoing across the campsite to where we're sitting.

"I feel sorry for it," Chloe says presently.

"Me too," I agree.

"Are there any towns between here and Olivine City?" Chloe asks Jess. Funny how she's also started turning to him for advice now. Obviously she accepted his intellectual superiority after the Shedinja trumping.

"One," Jess replies. "But it doesn't have a Pokémon Centre."

Judging by the troubled expression painting his features, Santos might be in quite a pickle. I don't know what the consequences could be from not getting him medical help fast enough.

I don't want to think about it.

I get up from the fire and scrounge in my pack for a cheese stick. If he rejects the cheese stick, we've got a serious problem.

"Santos?" I call gently, approaching his shady little corner apprehensively.

"Ursa…" he groans quietly. To my inexperienced ears, it sounds like a mix between 'DON'T COME ANY CLOSER, I'M IN PAIN AND WILL EAT YOUR FACE IF YOU TOUCH ME', and 'just make it go _away_'.

But I'm probably completely off the mark.

"Hey, little guy," I coo, bending down so I'm on his level. He's curled up again, his back to me. This is a little disconcerting; I have no way of judging if he's about to whip around and bite and/or scratch me.

"You okay?" I ask, edging closer carefully. I'm totally not cool with having my hand mauled like Zeke's.

"Ursa…"

To be honest, that really does sound like a response in the negative.

"I have something for you," I say, adding a bright edge to my voice. His ears prick a little. "Why don't you have a look?"

"Teddi."

I produce the cheese stick. Immediately, his nose goes off, sniffing away mentally. "Ursa!"

Well, he _sounds_ excited.

With what seems to be a great amount of effort, Santos turns around to face me. His eyes are fixed on the cheese stick in my fingers, and he leans his head forward to sniffle at it enthusiastically. Eventually, he reaches out his little paws – I don't miss the shadows of pain that haunt his eyes as he moves – and grasps it, putting the end of it decisively in his little mouth.

I watch for a moment as he gnaws at it.

Eventually, he puts the stick down on the grass. "Ursa..."

He gives it a forlorn, confused sort of look. Then he bestows that look upon me.

My heart bleeds. It's like he can't eat it, but he can't quite understand why, because he obviously wants to. I wonder if he has a forced loss of appetite.

Poor little guy.

"What's wrong?"

He paws at the cheese stick. "Ursa."

"Why don't you eat it?" I ask, troubled.

He just gives me that terribly sad look again. I swear to god, he's going to break my heart.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Ursa."

Uh. I guess that's a 'no'?

"Is there anything you want?" I try instead.

He puts his head back down on the grass, curling up again. "Ursa…"

I bite my lip worriedly, wishing I knew what was wrong so I could at least try to help. His little mouth pulls down into a grimace of pain; he whimpers quietly.

I reach out and stroke his fuzzy back with gentle fingers, tentative in case he strikes out.

He doesn't.

Heartened, I caress his fur rhythmically, in slow, gentle movements. He snuffles a little into the grass, shuffling closer to my hand, pressing his fur against my fingers, apparently enjoying the affection.

Cute.

"How's he doing?" Jess calls a few minutes later.

"Okay," I reply, with a degree of honesty. "He doesn't look like he's in quite as much pain."

Actually, he's gone a little dozy; my tickling has got him relaxing, I think. He's making the most adorable little snoring noises against the leaves, his nose pressed into the earth.

I shoot a smile over my shoulder at Jess. "I think he's sleeping."

Jess gives me a thumbs up from the fireside.

Unfortunately, my legs have fallen asleep; they're getting mighty uncomfortable. Retracting my hand carefully, I shift quietly, struggling to clamber noiselessly to my feet.

The moment I move, Santos protests.

"I'm still here," I say soothingly, tickling his fur again. "See?"

He gives me a look of objection. "Ursa."

When I don't get back down, he slowly attempts to push himself up from the earth.

"Don't hurt yourself!" I exclaim, almost tripping on my pins-and-needles afflicted legs. His face is warped with pain, but he ignores me.

With a half-growl, half-sigh, I stoop and scoop him up. Good god, he's heavier than he looks. He doesn't complain about the close contact – on the contrary, he snuggles close to my neck, making himself comfortable in my arms – so I carry him over to the fire.

We plonk down next to Jess, who gives me a praising look. Apparently, managing to win the bear-Pokémon's trust enough to pick him up is a major feat of achievement.

Considering my still-volatile relationship with El Scorchio, I suppose this counts as my first real bond with a Pokémon, so I guess it kind of is.

Santos twists his furry head to look over his shoulder at the fire, then drops his butt decidedly in my lap and, with an almighty yawn, buries his face in my chest.

Eep! Too cute! I want to hug him really tight, but I'm scared he'll die or something if I do.

So I just resume stroking his back. Within minutes, he's snoozing away.

Making a cheerful excuse about joining Ebony in the tent, Chloe gets up a few minutes later and makes her grand departure, leaving me to watch the fire slowly dying with Jess.

Zeke is nowhere to be seen.

"I'm worried about him," Jess confesses eventually.

"Who?" I ask reflexively, my mind still on Zeke's whereabouts.

"Santos," Jess replies, giving me a weird look. He reaches over to toy with one of the Teddiursa's round ears. Santos snuffles against my collarbone, his leathery little nose rubbing against my skin.

"Me too," I reply, glancing down at him.

"I'm concerned that we don't know what's wrong with him," Jess continues in a low voice. "And I'm worried Zeke isn't bothered enough by it."

I'm quiet for a moment, my gaze circling the campsite slowly, scouring the tree line closely for any sign of him, or Rex.

"What bothers me most," Jess continues, a trace of bitterness seeping into his tone, "is that he should really have pushed on through the night tonight, rather than stopping for camp – any good Trainer would have, if they had a sick Pokémon. He'd have made the city outskirts by dawn – but at this rate Santos won't get proper medical care until tomorrow afternoon." He exhales sharply through his nose. "Zeke just doesn't seem to care enough about his Pokémon."

This triggers a tiny spark of indignation; a conviction I voice without hesitation. "That's not true."

How I know that is beyond me, but I find myself believing my own words with solidity.

Zeke may be a jerk to me and Jess, and he might be difficult to get along with in general, and right now I might hate his guts beyond belief, but when it comes to his Pokémon, somehow there's absolutely not a shred of doubt within me that he truly cares for them. Sometimes, the only thing on the whole damn planet he actually gives a damn about is Rex.

Jess snorts beside me. "Could've fooled me."

"Look," I begin, "Zeke's a douchebag. But he'd do anything for Rex – he absolutely adores him. I don't know what his problem is right now – whether it's because Santos is new and they're not used to each other, or because of the whole in-love-with-a-boy-Teddiursa thing–" There, I said it "–but I'm sure Zeke wouldn't ignore his Pokémon if it was suffering. Who knows – maybe he's looking for something to help Santos right now."

"You're rather charitable towards him," Jess observes, "considering you've been refusing to speak to the guy for the past week."

My cheeks warm. "There's not a whole lot I'll give Zeke credit for. But I'm sure of this. I _know _he wouldn't be cruel to his Pokémon."

"Really?" Jess replies doubtfully. "Because you guys don't really seem to understand each other all that well."

"Granted," I reply, ignoring the tiny sting of indignation lashing in my chest. After all, I have lived with the guy for the past two years. "But I know him well enough to make good judgement on this."

Jess gives me a long look. For some reason, I can't hold it; I stare into the dancing flames instead.

Eventually, he says, "If you say so, Grace."

I get the absurd feeling I've managed to offend him, though I'm at a loss as to how, exactly. My suspicions are further exacerbated when he gets up quite abruptly from the fireside and shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

With a fleeting glance at me, he says, "'Night, Grace."

"Goodnight," I trail off as his loping strides fade away from the campfire.

I sit there for a moment, listening to the fire crackling quietly and Santos' rhythmic, peaceful snores, then get up, looping my arms under his fuzzy butt so he sits in my embrace like an infant.

Time to find Zeke.

Really, why am I the one looking after his Pokémon? Yes, I'm concerned for its health. Yes, I care a crap-ton about it. Yes, I've thoroughly enjoyed cuddling it, and it'll probably take a wrench to prise us apart.

But when it comes down to it, it should be _Zeke_ sitting by the fire nursing Santos.

And now that my sticking up for him has pissed Jess off, I'm not feeling quite as charitable towards him as before. Wherever he is and whatever he's doing should hit the back-burner in favour of the more pressing matter of Santos being unwell.

The trees surrounding the campsite are shadowy and quiet. I walk with caution, my shoes cracking against twigs and dead leaves. Somewhere nearby, a Hoothoot _whoos _softly, startling me half to death. I spot its faintly-glowing red eyes peering at me from the higher branches of a mountain ash several paces away.

I bite my lip so sharply it hurts. No screaming, Grace. You'll wake Santos.

Hugging him a little closer to my chest, I continue on, drawing comfort from his warm little body and steady heartbeat, throbbing calmly against my sweater.

Sound pricks in my ears and I stop, listening.

Water.

And a faint voice that can only belong to Zeke.

Weaving through the moonlit trees, I cut across the forest and hit a downward slope, which flattens as I descend, the sound of rushing water echoing through the trees. Finally I spot something thin and shiny ahead; it gleams suddenly in a bright patch of silvery moonlight. I make out the snakelike form of a small stream, twisting its way through the forest.

And Zeke's sitting by the bank.

It's a pricelessly opportune moment. He hasn't heard me coming; I could sneak up and scare the living daylights out of him. And it would be _totally _worth a few more days of dirty looks.

Instead, I let the thrill drain away, and clear my throat; even that makes his shoulders jerk in surprise. "Hey."

Wow. That felt weird. First time I've addressed him directly in a week.

He doesn't look around. He also doesn't respond.

Rude, much?

"Look," I say awkwardly, my voice tense with standoffish discomfort. "I'm not here to _bother_ you." I roll my eyes even though he can't see. "I'm just here to give you Santos, 'cause I'm going to bed."

"Alright," Zeke says shortly.

Um… now what?

"So, uh…" I say, awkward as hell. "Are you going to come take him?"

Without a word, Zeke gets up from the ground. Keeping his eyes firmly downcast, he stalks over to where I'm standing and gives an awkward little gesture with his arms, like he's attempted an uncomfortable, jerking hug, but changed his mind halfway through.

"Oh. Right. Um… Santos?" I say, nudging the Teddiursa gently to wake him. He scrunches up his little face, trying to ignore me. "No, Santos, come on. Wake up. I'm giving you to Zeke now."

"Ursa…" He tries to snuggle closer to my neck when I pull him away from my chest.

Squee! He's _so _cute!

"Why don't you just keep him?" Zeke asks gruffly.

"Because he's _your _Pokémon," I reply with a scowl. "Otherwise, I totally would."

Eventually, after much protesting and determined struggling, we manage to successfully transfer Santos from my arms to Zeke's, where he sits, looking a little uncomfortable and staring at me with wide, I-don't-understand-why-you-just-did-that eyes.

We stand there for a tense moment.

I really should just turn and leave now.

I don't.

"He's really sick, you know," I say eventually.

Brief, intense irritation flashes in Zeke's icy eyes. "I know that."

I shrug and back off.

Whatever. If he thinks he's got the situation under control, sweet. I won't interfere any more.

"Okay," I say awkwardly. "Well…"

I meet his eyes for a split second, during which I marvel that the expression in them maybe suggests that he might actually have something he wants to say.

And that he might actually be contemplating saying it.

But no, he's wordless as ever.

And that was his chance for conversation. With a glance serving as a tentative farewell, I back towards the trees, swivelling and heading into the darkness.

XD

Around mid-morning the next day, we crest a grassy hill to discover a sight most desirable for sore eyes. I nearly whoop for joy at the sprawling buildings forming the lip of civilisation that crawls to the beaches of the crescent-moon, white-sand coastline. The blue-green ocean glitters invitingly. And the weather couldn't be more perfect if a legendary Pokémon tampered with it.

From there, the rest of the hike to Olivine seems to blur past. What feels like ten minutes later (but is actually more like forty-five) we're walking on asphalt instead of dirt path, through the impressive gateway to the city and into the apartment-complex-lined streets.

I quickly deduce two things: Olivine is about a billion times bigger than I remember it being, and without Dad's chauffer, we're in serious danger of winding up completely insanely lost.

"I vote we stop," I say, keen to ditch my pack for a while. "I'm starving."

"We should really find the Pokémon Centre first," Jess says, chewing the inside of his lip. "For Santos. That's our biggest priority right now."

Zeke says nothing.

Jess is right, of course. I feel a stab of guilt for my selfishness. Then my stomach gives an almighty rumble.

"The Centre could be miles away," I whine. "My shoulders hurt, my feet are sore, and we have no food left, so we can't even snack. Either way, Santos won't be getting medical help until we find the Pokémon Centre, so why can't we quickly stop?"

When Jess glances at me, the resolve in his eyes weakening, I pout.

Terrible, Grace. You should feel ashamed.

"There's a bus stop up ahead," Chloe interjects, pointing. "Our house is on the other side of town, in Zone Three. We can ask the next bus driver which way we need to go, and where he's heading."

And that's how we all end up cramped along a metal bench clearly meant for a maximum number of three, our packs sprawled at our feet. The sun overhead is baking hot; it's burning my hair. In the distance, the heat simmers off the asphalt, blurring the horizon.

When the bus finally trundles up and whinges to a stop before us, only Jess has enough motivation to get up and ask directions from the driver.

"Okay," he reports, as the bus wheezes off up the road. "So we want West Main road. There's a bus that leaves from stop twelve and takes us to Area Five in Zone Three… Is any of this making any degree of sense to anyone?"

"Sure," Chloe replies, though she sounds alarmingly doubtful. When I glance worriedly at her, she adds hastily, "Look, I'm pretty sure I know West Main – it's the main street in the Western districts. And once we get to Zone Three I'm pretty sweet. It's the getting-to-West-Main-road part that we might have some trouble with."

"So we need a map of the city," Zeke says shortly.

"That might be a good idea," she agrees sheepishly.

That turns out to be much easier said than done. We're in the business district; surrounding us for blocks in either direction are imposing, glass-faced skyscrapers, crouching on the sidewalk.

They're neither friendly nor inviting.

And there's not a single convenience store. _Anywhere_.

We walk until conversation runs dry. Eventually, the tension is so palpable Jess' shoulders are scrunched up in frustration.

"Guys, stop," I say finally. Immediately, they all comply. I groan, dropping my pack and massaging where the straps have cut into my shoulders. "This is ridiculous. We're getting nowhere."

"We need a new plan," Jess agrees. "Clearly, we're not going to magically stumble across a map anytime soon."

"Yes, thanks for that, genius," Zeke interjects snidely.

"You could actually be useful, for once," Jess retorts sarcastically, "And _do_ something."

Zeke's eyes flash dangerously.

"Cool it, everyone," Chloe says, exasperated.

"Pun," I point out, unable to help myself. Everyone looks at me. Suddenly, I'm fighting a smirk. "Get it? Because today's so hot…"

Jess catches my eye. A curl twists his upper lip.

Zeke bestows upon me an icy look of disdain and runs his fingers through his hair in agitation. Actually, he's looking pretty flushed; he could probably do with a haircut. He must be boiling beneath that mop of fluffy black.

I suddenly wonder if I've still got some water. Without thinking, I reach for the side of my pack.

No, Grace! Let him take care of himself. Stern face.

"Chloe," I say instead, "is there _any_ way to the Pokémon Centre from here? Any way _at all_?"

"Maybe," she replies doubtfully. "I'm not sure."

"I think there's a station," Ebony interrupts. We all stare at her. She blushes faintly, shrugging casually, and points lightly. "According to that sign…"

Ha. Well aren't we ignorant?

Thankfully, she's right. Within minutes, the wide steps leading to the below-ground station are coming into view.

I've never been happier to see an underground in my life. Swear to Arceus.

Wait, I sound like Zeke. Creepy.

Swear to _Cresselia_.

That's better.

Anyway, that's how we end up crammed in a stuffy, snakelike steel carriage, speeding our way through Olivine's underground network towards Central Station. It's not peak hour, so the train isn't packed and we have room to spread out, but somehow it's still _way _too hot inside, even with the windows open.

None of us says much; I think we're all too hot and bothered to find the energy to make conversation.

Finally, after a ten minute streak through tunnelled darkness, we screech to a halt at the platform of Central Station. A breath of stale but cool air whips my bangs from my face as the electronic doors slide open; we haul our packs from the carriage and huddle on the brick platform to regroup.

"Has everyone got everything?" Jess asks, peeling his jacket off.

I really wish he wouldn't do that. He clearly has no idea what he looks like in a loose shirt. I watch him push his sleeves up to the elbow, the muscles contracting beneath his browned skin, and force my gaze away.

"We're not grade schoolers on a field trip," Zeke snaps scornfully. Without a backward glance, he walks off with his pack.

Jess sighs. "Come on, guys, before we lose him."

We pack onto an escalator that takes us up to ground level. To our fortune, and my immense delight, the Pokémon Centre is right across the road.

"Well, thank the lord for that," Jess says, hitting the button at the pedestrian crossing. Zeke doesn't wait; he strolls confidently into the busy street, weaving between the cars as they whiz past.

"Hey!" Chloe calls, astonished. "What are you doing?"

"He's an idiot," Jess mutters, frowning. "He'll kill himself if he's not careful."

"He's not usually this dumb," I reply. "I don't know what his problem is."

"What's with the immaturity?" Chloe asks, propping her hands on her hips. "Does he think he's cool?"

Jess shrugs. "He'll grow up someday."

"I'm not hopeful," I say sourly, watching Zeke's stuffed pack disappear into the Pokémon Centre. His attitude problem is getting worse; it's seriously bad right now.

The Centre interior greets us with a breath of cooled air and the bubbly sounds of friendly chatter. It's busy inside; busier than I've ever seen a Centre. We take a number and wait in line behind a kid who just challenged the Olivine City Gym Leader, Jasmine.

"She's so powerful," he tells us, his eyes wide with emphasis. "And her Pokémon are so tough. My Cyndaquil was no match for her Steelix – and it had a type advantage!"

"Is your Cyndaquil okay?" I ask, concerned.

He nurses its Pokéball with both hands, looking forlorn. "I hope so. He's a pretty determined little guy, but he took a pretty bad beating. I wish I'd trained harder – I feel like I've let him down."

Ugh. That look on his face – _that _is why I'm glad I'm not into battling.

Finally, the defeated Trainer's Cyndaquil is examined and transferred to the critical care unit on a white stretcher steered by two fat Chansey nurses.

Then it's our turn.

"Nurse Joy," Jess begins, "we're here for a general check up of all our Pokémon, but first, please take a look at our Teddiursa–"

"_My _Teddiursa," Zeke interjects sourly.

"–We think it's really sick," Jess continues, ignoring him.

"Of course," Joy says, her soft blue eyes serious. "May I see the Pokémon?"

While Zeke digs in his pocket for Santos' Pokéball, Joy picks up the phone and dials. "Louise, could you send Sarah to come and look after the desk for a few minutes?" She pauses, listening. "That'll be fine. Thank you."

She replaces the handset, taking Zeke's Pokéball. "Come with me."

Glancing at each other, we traipse after her, down a short, clean corridor and into a private consulting room with a patient bed, and shelves stacked with medical equipment. Joy takes a seat at a desk with a computer, clicking away for a few seconds.

"Okay," she says finally. "Please take a seat, everyone."

"Nurse Joy?" Jess speaks up. "I was just wondering. Why didn't you examine Santos at the front desk, like usual?"

"Well," she replies, her eyes on Santos as he shakes his fur out and promptly curls up on the floor, whimpering. "If your Teddiursa really is quite ill, we have to be careful to isolate any germs that could spread to other Pokémon in the Centre. It's just a precaution. Now…"

We watch and wait, obediently quiet, as she gives Santos a check up. She looks into his ears and throat, checks his pulse with a stethoscope, measures his temperature, and checks his blood pressure with a strange Velcro pad she straps to his arm and puffs up with a hand pump.

"Well," she says, frowning slightly as she unhooks the stethoscope from her ears. "There doesn't appear to be any of the usual symptoms for a common illness, like a flu or virus. Teddiursa's chest is clear, and there are no infections in the sinuses."

She appears baffled.

"So there's nothing wrong with Santos?" I ask, disbelieving.

"It's actually a very healthy-looking Teddiursa. But I wouldn't say that," she replies and looks to Zeke. "Your Teddiursa is very obviously in pain. I think we're going to have to keep it here overnight, so we can give it a more thorough examination. I'd do it now, but I just don't have that kind of time. I'm sorry."

Zeke looks about to argue, but I cut him off. "That's perfectly fine. Thanks so much for your help."

She returns Santos and hands the Pokéball to Zeke. "I'll send these notes through to Sarah at the desk; leave your Teddiursa with her. She'll also give your other Pokémon a check up – just tell her I sent you."

"Nurse Joy?" I can't help asking, as Jess and Zeke make for the door. They pause, and she gives me a pleasant smile, indicating for me to continue. I feel a bit foolish for asking, but I really want to know her honest opinion. "Is… is Santos _actually _going to be okay?"

Her smile now is very kind. "I'm confident she's going to be just fine. Don't worry – we'll figure out what's going on soon. I'm sure it's nothing too serious."

"Wait," Zeke says incredulously. "Did you just say 'she'?"

Nurse Joy nods amiably. Then her blue eyes widen. "Don't tell me you thought it was a boy all this time. Its small body and larger ears are quite obvious traits of a female Teddiursa."

"You're kidding me," Jess says, amusement lacing his voice.

Zeke is speechless. This means Santos isn't gay, after all. He's gotta be happy about that.

I want so badly to say, "I told you so!", but I fight the urge. Instead I say, firmly, "Thank you, Nurse Joy."

The silence is thick and heavy as we walk back down the corridor.

Someone needs to say something. Right now. Something _has _to be said. It just can't not.

I glance sidelong at Jess, who glances back, smirking hugely.

"So…" I say, clearing my throat, resisting the broad grin twitching around my lips. Zeke shoots me a reluctant, sideward glance, and my smile cracks. "Santosette?"

He sighs heavily. "Shut up, Grace."


	15. The Fourteenth Chapter!

**A/N: **For any CandleWickShippers, this chapter may cause minor side effects of excessive squealing, flapping of the hands and/or giddiness. I've gone all-out for this one, so expect intensity. I accept full responsibility for any minor seizures that may result from excessive consumption of fluff.

Also: I don't speak French. Excuse my abysmal mutilation of the language later in the chapter.

* * *

**~ Fourteen ~**

**On Life's Luxuries and Green Monsters**

* * *

The next few days are absolutely fantastic.

After Sarah gives the all-clear to the rest of our Pokémon, we bid a long-overdue farewell to Chloe and Ebony, who decide to head for home at long last.

Good riddance.

No offense, or anything.

We book a room at the Pokémon Centre for that first night, while the still un-renamed Santos remains in the general admissions unit. An early-morning appointment with Nurse Joy produces the most astounding results.

"Your Teddiursa is constipated." She frowns sternly at Zeke. "What have you been feeding it?"

We all think the same thing at the same time: Cheese.

Zeke shoots me a furious glare. Jess glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

Whoops. My bad.

"Teddiursa are herbivores," Joy explains, retrieving a laminated chart from her desk. She hands it to me.

It's a food pyramid for a vegetarian diet. At the bottom is leafy greens, vegetables and lentils – the widest belt. Above that, Berries. Above that, dairy products. Above _that_, sweets – a tiny little triangle tip.

"You need to make sure Teddiursa is eating a well-balanced diet, consisting mostly of Berries and vegetables," Joy says, pointing to the bottom tier. "And that it's only having things like breads, crackers, cheeses and sweets every now and then, like a treat or a reward. Most Teddiursa have quite a good metabolism, but yours is much more delicate – you need to be extra careful to watch what it eats, or this could happen again very easily."

We begin Santos' new diet straight away. Feeling immensely guilty for being the root of the problem, I head out to the closest organic grocer's and buy as many Berries and vegetables as I can carry.

It's not that simple, though.

Santos is a very fussy eater. We work out very quickly that she only likes things that are flavourful (particularly _sweet_), so that promptly rules out half the veggies and practically every bean or lentil in existence.

Luckily, she's happy enough with most Berries, so until we can work out how to get her eating vegetables, we get her onto meals of sliced Pecha berries, with the occasional Persim or Mago. She falls in love with Bluk berries, but we can't give them to her too often, as they dye her mouth and teeth purple for a few days afterward.

Plus, if we let her have them, she promptly refuses to eat anything else.

Except cheese, which we've subtly attempted to remove from her diet. She's not easy to fool, though; if she thinks she's gone too long without a cheese stick, she throws tantrums that can last for hours and refuses to eat anything until we cave and give her one.

Devious little vixen.

The 'treat' thing seems to be working, though; she's worked out that if she obediently does her exercises, she'll get half a cheese stick. And if she eats all her Berries at dinner, she'll get another half a cheese stick.

And if she doesn't misbehave – which is a tall order, as she's got a feisty temper and has a tendency to get snooty and/or violent if things don't go her way – she gets a piece of chocolate, which we discovered she has an attachment to when I accidentally left a block sitting on the table and she gobbled half of it in delight.

One major upside is that she's learned that biting and scratching won't get her any treats, so she's stopped lashing out as much during her temper tantrums.

Another is that she's figured out I'm the weakest link, and am most likely the one that'll give her a treat if she acts cute enough. So she's become permanently attached to my heels whenever she's let out of her Pokéball, following me around everywhere like I've got her on a leash.

And she refuses to be picked up by anyone else – both Jess and Zeke tried and suffered the consequences; for two days they had matching scratches down their cheeks.

After that first night at the Pokémon Centre, Zeke immediately shifts us to a suite at the Olivine City Grand Clamperl, a fancy hotel franchise making its mark in the biggest and most populated cities across Johto and Kanto. The business is worth _millions_; I went to middle school with Dahlia Hollyhock, youngest of the three heiresses. The family is so wealthy they can't even begin to understand the meaning of the word – and they don't need to.

The hotel is located in the 'upper' end of town; right on the boulevard across the road from Olivine Beach. The wide, clean streets are lined with palm trees entwined with fairy-lights, and are home to a plethora of expensive hotels, fancy restaurants, and the shopaholic's dream – everything from stylish boutiques to glamorous department stores.

Olivine City is even more fantastic than I remember. I fall instantly in love with it.

Our suite is practically the dictionary definition of 'luxury'. Thickly carpeted in soft cream, it's huge, with two rooms (I get my own, finally!), a glossy white-tiled bathroom complete with spa bath, and a lounge room I'd be perfectly happy to never leave, ever again. The L-shaped sofa is so squishy and comfy, I curl up and take a nap that is only broken when Jess wakes me for dinner.

The suite even has a private balcony, with potted miniature palm trees and blue-and-white striped deck chairs.

Heaven on Earth, I tell you.

This kind of accommodation is totally the norm for Rex, who looks mighty overjoyed to be back amongst the lavishness. But for Santos and Shepherd, it's completely foreign. When they're first let out of their Pokéballs, they don't know what to do with themselves; what to sniff at first, where to step.

It doesn't take long for them to settle in, though. After taking a leaf out of my book, Santos becomes rather too attached to the sofa, where she can reliably be found snoozing at any given time of day. And Shep makes the balcony his personal outpost; he spends most of the time sitting in the sun, watching over the street below.

The only one who doesn't get comfortable is Jess.

"I don't know if I should sit there," he jokes, when I invite him to join me watching TV. "It might crease the cushion."

I roll my eyes and kick the space beside me. "Don't be prissy."

"I'm not," he replies, a little indignantly, and obediently sinks down on the sofa. "This is just… all very new and strange. I'm not sure what I'm allowed to touch."

I don't really know what to say to that.

I lift my feet so he can make himself comfortable, and he grabs my ankles, settling them over his legs. We grow still and silent for a few minutes, his hands resting on my feet.

I'm _acutely_ aware of them.

Especially when he starts playing with my toes.

Suddenly, the TV is just unintelligible babble in the background, no matter how hard I try to focus on it. I'm too distracted.

At first, he traces circles along the bridge of my feet with his thumb. Then he toys with the arches underneath. It would be totally fine and super cute, if I wasn't majorly ticklish there. I fight the intolerable feeling for as long as I can, trying to save the moment, but it's impossible; I squeal and squirm, trying to retract my feet.

Jess grabs them, grinning hugely in delight. "You're ticklish?"

"No. Maybe. Just a little."

My eyes are on his pointer, which he's holding up deliberately like it's a weapon.

Which, to me, it pretty much is.

"Don't," I warn him slowly.

"Like that'd stop me," he scoffs, and drills his pointer into my foot.

I scream and writhe. Seriously? Why? Why does he have to find entertainment and amusement in my perils? Not fair!

"No more! Stop! _Stop_! Aagh!" But I'm giggling like mad, so my conviction is hardly serious. He's laughing, too – at me.

Finally, I swipe at his hands, trying to prise them off my feet, but he just grabs my fingers. Seizing the opportunity, I tuck my feet safely underneath me, out of harm's way.

Except now we're sitting mighty close, looking right at each other, our hands entwined. The silence is suddenly sharp and sort of tense.

As I stare at him and he stares back, I wonder how quickly is too quickly to develop feelings for someone.

Right now, all I want is for him to kiss me.

I've never thought that before. It's a strangely new desire. I'm not sure what to do with it – do I ignore it? Swallow it down? Pretend it's not there? Or do I let it swirl around in the front of my mind, like it's undoubtedly going to?

But it's okay, right? We've been travelling together for over a month now – I feel like I know him pretty darn well. And I trust him. Completely.

Would it _really_ be rushing?

I suck in my breath; it hitches in my chest. His eyes flick lightly to my mouth.

The sound of the door electronically unlocking breaks the silence, and Jess drops my hands, looking away as Zeke strolls in. He glances between us suspiciously, but says nothing, stalking straight to the room he's sharing with Jess.

Of course he would choose _right now _to return to the suite. That's just how my life works.

Rex greets us with a hissing noise, trotting over to where we're sitting. He looks up at me expectantly.

"What? What do you want?"

He smacks his arms against the sofa space between me and Jess.

I sigh. "Fine. But no Water Gun – _at all_, okay? No, I mean it, Rex. This isn't our sofa to destroy."

He scrambles up between us, and we squeeze further apart to make more room for him. I glance at Jess as subtly as possible, but he's looking studiously at the TV, his face a little flushed.

Surely he felt that, too. He _must _have.

Unfortunately, with Rex happily oblivious between us, hissing with laughter at the comedy I'm supposedly watching, we can't discuss it. So I have no choice but to drop it, and push it to the back of my mind.

But there's no way I'm letting it go. Not on my life.

XD

It only takes me a day of lounging around the suite to get bored.

The next day dawns bright and sunny, and I sift through my belongings – now occupying two drawers of the cupboard (only two; how depressing) – for something appropriate to wear.

Unfortunately, I left all my socially-acceptable clothes back at the penthouse. I don't even have a bikini, for god's sake. Mayday!

All I've got is my travelling stuff. And there is _no way_ I'm walking around the über-fashionable streets of Olivine City in my hiking boots and japara.

I tug on my now-dilapidated jeans and the only sort-of-okay tee I've got. I'd wear the lucky sweater, but it's way too hot for that. Sad face.

I grab my wallet and cell phone. Time to do some serious shopping. My wardrobe is in dire need of a pick-me-up.

"Where are you going?" Jess asks, looking alarmed when I head past for the door.

I grin and hold up my wallet. "Sho-o-opping! Wanna come?"

He visibly blanches. "No, thanks. I'm fine here."

"Pussy," Zeke remarks snidely from his end of the sofa.

"Care to join me, dear brother?" I ask pointedly.

"I'd simply _love _to," he replies lazily, "but I'm hitting the beach in ten. No can do."

"What a shame," I say sarcastically.

"Isn't it?"

"Well," I say cheerily. "See you later, boys."

"Grace!" Jess calls, lunging from the sofa as I pull open the door. He catches me in the hall. "Don't you think one of us should come with you? It just seems a bit… dangerous."

His eyes are flecked with concern.

I beam up at him, my heart thrumming happily, because he cares and it's cute. "It's really sweet that you're worried, but I'll be fine, Jess. I'm not a child, even though I might act like one sometimes."

He purses his lips. "Still…"

"Honestly," I reply. "I've been taking care of myself for a long time. I'm fine on my own. Go to the beach with Zeke – you've been wanting to for ages."

He sighs, rubbing his thumb across his forehead. Then he growls in frustration. "Don't move. Wait right here."

The door swings shut in my face, and I'm left, stunned, in the quiet hall.

He returns a few seconds later, his rucksack slung over his shoulder. "Okay. Let's go."

"What?"

"I'm coming with you. Come on." He starts off down the corridor. I stare after him.

He glances over his shoulder, his lips pulling up into a smile. "What are you waiting for? Shops don't stay open forever."

I trot after him, astonished. "But…"

"You asked me if I wanted to come, and I said no. I changed my mind." He punches the gold button for the elevator and shoots me a twinkle-eyed smirk. "Unless you don't want my company…?"

"No!" I stammer hastily. "It's not that–"

"Good. Then we have no qualms." The elevator arrives and he steps inside, holding the shiny gold doors open for me. "Well? Are you coming or not?"

XD

Considering it's my first real opportunity to actually shop in _weeks_, and that my pack has _tons _of space, and that it's _perfect _beach weather, and that I _still_ have my dad's until-now unused credit card, to say I go wild is only the understatement of the century.

Poor Jess had no idea what he was in for.

We hit one of Olivine City's largest and most famous department stores first. Before this wacky adventure began, I'd never had any need to visit the first few floors of any department store, given they're usually dedicated entirely to Trainer needs.

Now, however, they're a whole new world, ready to be explored.

We grab a basket each (I don't bother answering when Jess asks why we need two) and hit the shelves. Within minutes, mine is practically overflowing. Pokéballs, Potions, Antidotes, Awakening… you name it, I grab it.

"What's all that for?" Jess demands, peering into my basket when I start filling his.

"Our first aid kit needs restocking," I reply.

"Grace, you've got enough there to fill _three _first aid kits," Jess points out. "_And _a small medical centre. We don't need that much."

"Back up," I reply simply, with a shrug. "In case we run out."

"We can just restock again at the next Mart," he argues, and reaches into my basket to take stuff out. "We really only need _half_ of what you've grabbed. How are we supposed to carry it all?"

Okay, fine.

Anyway, the extra room means I can buy other stuff. Win-win!

"Do we need that?" Jess asks as I reach for a pot of Pokéball polish on the shelf.

"Yes," I reply instantly. I have no idea why, though. The stuff just looks cool. And useful. Like every good Trainer should have some of it. Well, that's what the slogan proclaims, anyway.

Jess just shakes his head, smiling. "I don't understand you, Grace Buckthorn."

"It's more fun that way, right?" I reply with a grin. He laughs and reaches around me for a folded cloth in plastic wrapping.

"Well, if you're going to get the polish, you're going to need something to polish _with, _right?" he says in response to my questioning look. He gives me a wry smirk.

We strike gold in the accessories department, where we come across a pair of durable leather Trainer gloves (in two varieties: pink and black, or blue and grey – I seize the former). They're fingerless at the tips, but they still look mighty useful – especially for somebody in my sort of situation.

I look hopefully to Jess.

"Now _that_," he says, taking them from me, "would be a wise purchase."

He drops them in his basket. Victory is mine!

Two dresses, three pairs of shoes (sandals, casual sneakers, pumps), four shirts, a bikini and a pair of denim shorts later, Jess is begging me to stop.

"I can't take much more of this without sustenance," he moans dramatically. "We're going to have to take a short break from shopping. I know it's going to break your heart a little bit, but you're not going to die. I, on the other hand, can't guarantee I won't… unless I get a soda in me."

"I'll go you one better," I reply, as we emerge from the cool department store into the balmy summer day. "Ice-cream."

"Sold," he replies with a grin.

We sit outside the ice-cream parlour, at a round white table under the shade of a big, striped umbrella. Shep sits proudly at Jess' feet, people-watching and making sure no-one steps too close to us.

Super cute.

It's the perfect opportunity to discuss what sort of, maybe might have happened earlier, but I have no idea how to bring it up, and Jess doesn't mention it.

I nibble away at my Strawberry Surprise sundae, wishing I had more confidence when it comes to this sort of thing.

When I glance up at Jess, he's watching me.

I blush.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks.

_How much I like you. _"Nothing, really."

"You sure? You seemed pretty lost in thought."

"Well, I've got a lot to think about," I reply cryptically, with a grin.

He sobers. "That you do."

We're quiet for a few minutes.

Shep perks up and growls at another Growlithe across the street.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?" Jess finally asks.

"When?"

"When you get to Kanto."

I sigh, stirring my half-melted ice-cream into a blob. "I'm… going to meet my mother."

"And?"

"That's the plan so far."

"I know you're uncomfortable about it," he says, "but I think you need to put some more thought into it. I mean, what if you don't get along?"

I confess, I had thought of that myself. "I don't know. I'll come home, I guess."

"What are you even supposed to be doing over there?"

"To be honest," I reply, glancing up at him, "I have no idea. Dad just said to return whenever I felt like it."

"So, technically, you could just turn around now and head back?"

"I don't think it really works that way."

"I don't know," he says, frowning into his soda. "It just seems a bit… weird."

"Tell me about it," I reply heavily. "This whole thing is crazy."

Once again, silence settles like snowflakes.

Eventually, I say, "I can't imagine I'll be there very long."

Jess glances at me inquisitively.

"Well," I expand. "It's not exactly like I _wanted_ to go visit my mom."

"True, but it could turn out to be the best thing that's ever happened to you. You won't know until you get there."

Which, really, will be quite soon, considering we're only spending a few days in Olivine before Zeke and I get on that ferry.

Which means Jess and I will be parting ways pretty darn soon.

My stomach drops unpleasantly. "Can we stop talking about it now?"

I really don't want to have to think about that. At least let me spend these last few days in some sort of ignorant denial, so I don't have to be so miserable about it. I'd prefer to enjoy the rest of the time we've got.

Jess seems to have followed my train of thought. He gives me a hesitant, subdued sort of look across the table. "Grace…"

Just like that, I'm a closed book again. "Are you done with that?"

He glances down at the melted liquid that was once his Mint Chip ice-cream. "Yeah."

"Cool." I grab both our sundae bowls and get up from the table without a backward glance.

XD

That night, Zeke books a table for us at Olivine's infamous Le Restaurant de Perles D'or, which both of us are psyched about visiting. It's a huge, five-star complex just down the road from The Grand Clamperl, and by five-star I mean silver-service, smart-casual-attire, private-dining-experience five-star. Dad and I dined there once, a very long time ago.

Excited to be dressing up at long last, I don one of my new dresses (the strapless LBD – super cute) and the new pumps, brushing my impossibly bouncy hair until it shines.

Then I meet the boys by the door.

"Nice," Jess comments, his eyes lighting up. Beside him, in a smart navy shirt and black slacks, Zeke's totally out-styling him. Actually, he looks pretty good; he manages to pull off smart-casual pretty darn well.

Having said that, in spite of his slightly shabby cotton-shirt-and-jeans ensemble, Jess doesn't look uncomfortable in the least.

"Why would you pick black?" Zeke sneers. "You know it makes you look washed out."

Yes, his dear mother only let me know _every single time _I wore a single item of black clothing.

Like mother, like son, apparently. In fact, he sounded _just like her_ just now.

It wasn't a pleasant experience.

"For someone who supposedly detests his mother," I reply shortly, "You sure have a lot in common."

"Shut up," he spits, his eyes a furious blaze of ice, and stalks out.

Jess glances at me, half-alarmed, half-curious, but I just shrug. "Long story."

We're greeted at the door of Le Restaurant de Perles D'or by a waiter in a penguin suit, who shows us to our private table, in a round room cordoned off with thick, golden drapes. Once we're seated, he tugs a rope-like tassel and the curtain door swings shut, enclosing us.

The table is as round as the room, clothed in pristine, crisp white and decorated with a golden centrepiece. The knives and forks (all three sets of them) gleam silver, polished to perfection, and I wouldn't be surprised if the intricate glass goblets were actually made of crystal.

Appropriately stunned by the extravagance, Jess wordlessly examines the menu. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, watching his eyes widen as they flick from one dish to the next.

I bite my lip as he pales. Maybe this is too much?

This is of little concern to Zeke, who orders a heinously expensive entrée and a bottle of the restaurant's finest cabernet merlot.

"You're underage," Jess hisses as the waiter bows and exits.

Zeke raises one eyebrow at him in a lazy smirk. "So?"

"It's illegal," Jess reminds him.

Zeke laughs shortly through his nose. "I'm a Hemlock."

That kind of language is foreign to Jess.

I clear my throat sharply. Enough is enough. Zeke doesn't need to shove his wealth up poor Jess' nose. "Just drink your wine and be happy."

Zeke, to my surprise, backs down.

Jess, however, shoots me an uncomfortable look across the table. I shrug slightly, apologetic.

The wine arrives. Zeke watches Jess like a predator as the waiter pours him a glass. I politely decline – while Zeke and Jess can pull off being eighteen (or at least, slip under the radar thanks to Zeke's abundance of money) – I most certainly can _not_. That would be pushing it a little too much.

But when our mains arrive and Zeke raises his glass in a cruel toast at Jess, I slam my fork down angrily. "This isn't funny, Zeke. Stop it."

"I'm just being polite," he replies innocently. But his lips curl in a vindictive smirk.

"No, you're being a pompous spoiled brat, and a jerk," I shoot back snakily. "And Jess doesn't deserve it. Seriously stop it, or you can dine alone."

"Fine by me," he returns silkily, with a shrug. "Just thought it would be nice to extend my hospitality to the less fortunate."

That's it. I've had enough.

I push my chair out violently. "Come on, Jess. We're going."

That's a shame; I was looking forward to my Corphish thermidor.

Jess doesn't need to be asked twice. Within minutes, we're exchanging pleasant farewells with the maître d' and walking in the dusky evening.

"What was that all about?" Jess eventually asks.

Still fuming, I exhale through my nose, attempting to forcibly calm myself. "Just Zeke being… well, himself. You know how I told you he's got a pretty sweet life back home?" I pause, shaking my head, too angry for words. "He can be _such_ a snob sometimes. I'm so sorry – he was _so_ rude to you."

"It's not like I'm not used to it," he replies with a gentle smile.

"Yeah, but Zeke was in his element. And you shouldn't have to put up with that kind of crap."

"I'm sorry you missed your dinner."

I shrug carelessly. "Doesn't matter. I'd rather be out here with you than in there with him. A fancy meal isn't worth unpleasant company."

I glare unintentionally at a passing couple, who scuttle on, glancing back at me in alarm.

"Grace." Jess touches my arm, tugging me to a stop. He turns me to face him, and, seeing the thunder in my face, pulls me into an unexpected hug.

"It… it just…" I sigh angrily, which is difficult with my chin propped on his slightly-too-high shoulder. "It makes me _so_ mad."

He just tucks me solidly in his arms and says nothing.

Gradually, the anger thumping in my chest turns to light, happy thrumming (I mean, come on, Jess is _hugging _me), and I relax, deflating. Sensing the right moment, he loosens his arms, and we melt apart.

I look up at him, a little embarrassed. "Sorry… my temper got the better of me."

He slides his hand down the back of my arm to entwine his fingers with mine, and offers me a boyish smile. "You're pretty cute when you're angry."

My heart stops. I'm _horrifically_ speechless. Heat flushes my cheeks.

It's the cute thing again – it gets me every time. God _damn _it!

He laughs and tugs on my hand. "Come on. Let's find something to eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

XD

The morning of our third and intended final day dawns brilliant blue. It's warm without being too hot, and there's practically no wind.

The decision is unanimous: we're spending the day at the beach.

I pull out my new bikini in excitement. It's lavender-coloured, with white polka dots and a bow at the front.

How could I _not_ have bought it?

Feeling suddenly self-conscious at the thought of Jess seeing me half-naked, I tug my lucky sweater and the new shorts on over the top.

Done.

Olivine Beach is a wide strip of bleached-blonde sand, arcing away to either side. People are _everywhere_; the shoreline is crowded with towels.

Nonetheless, we find a spot and make camp, setting up a bright, red-and-white umbrella to shade my fair skin.

I'm one of those poor, unfortunate souls that burn to a crisp if I sit in the sun for more than ten minutes. The acquirement of a tan is a long, careful process that must be undertaken with absolute precision: timed periods in the sun, plenty of recuperation in the shade, and _tons _of sunscreen.

This tan is happening. It is on like Donkey Kong.

Jess listens, his expression serious, as I cheerfully tell him all this. Biting the bullet, I remove my lucky sweater, refusing to look up at him as I do. I busy myself with my bag and studiously 'search' for the sunscreen I already know the exact location of, buying myself time to calm down.

Chill out, Grace. He's not even going to care about your body. Come on. It's _Jess. _

Eventually, I'm composed enough to glance up.

Wuah – he has his shirt off!

Look back down, Grace. Quick!

I apply sunscreen like never before, lathering my skin over and over until Jess is safely heading for the water. There is absolutely no way I could have missed a single spot of skin, I was so ridiculously meticulous.

I glance up, watching his browned back disappear into the waves.

Thank Cresselia for that.

This is getting embarrassing.

Beside me, Shep watches curiously as I rub lotion into my cheeks. He sniffs at the bottle when I put it down.

"Don't eat that," I warn him. "It tastes gross."

"Grrrowl!" He obediently makes himself comfortable by my towel. It's like having a personal body guard wherever I go. But one that doesn't tower over you, and who rolls over if you scratch behind his ears.

As the day wears on, I move from the shade, where I snooze, to the water, where I swim (or get splashed), and back again.

I'm taking another turn in the shade, relaxing with a fashion magazine, when shadows fall over my feet. I look up, squinting behind my sunglasses.

Oh. It's Zeke.

And some girl.

"Hi," I say obediently. "What do you want?"

Okay, so perhaps I'm being a little over-frosty. But he deserves it, after last night.

"She's usually not this rude," Zeke says to his company. I take a good look at her.

And wish I hadn't.

She's tall and willowy, with long, slender arms and legs, and an enviably toned stomach. Her hair, sleek raven, tumbles down her back in loose waves, like it just _naturally_ sits perfectly like that, all the time, without any effort on her part. Beneath her carefully shaped eyebrows, her eyes are big, almond-shaped, and rich dark brown.

But it gets better. High cheekbones are accentuated by a fine, straight nose and an expressive, plum-shaped mouth. And not only does she unarguably _rock_ that bikini – her perky breasts fill out the triangles easily, I note with a stab of vicious envy – she's breathtakingly beautiful.

No, _stunning. _

I cringe a little where I'm sitting.

"This is my sister, Grace," Zeke's saying during all this overwhelmingness.

"Step-sister," I correct numbly, wishing I can shield my eyes from her radiant gloriousness.

"Grace, this is Elena. She's Olivine City's Miss Bathing Beauty."

Of course she is.

Zeke turns his cold blue eyes on me, his lips forming a superior sort of smirk – like he's triumphant somehow, for some weird reason.

"Two years running," Elena adds proudly, in a voice thick as honey and smooth as chocolate. She props one long-fingered hand on her perfectly bronzed hip.

"Wow," I comment weakly. "Congratulations."

She gives me a smile that might actually be real. But it's hard to tell. Either way, it hurts to be on the receiving end.

Those teeth… so white. And so perfect.

Strike me down now, God, if you exist. I don't want to share the air this sculpted creature breathes. I'm not worthy.

But of course, that must have been Zeke's intention; why else would he have brought her over here?

Asshole.

"You don't mind if Elena sits with you, do you, Grace?" the soulless youth in question asks with a black grin. "She needs to watch her tan."

"S-sure."

Zeke disappears.

Elena folds herself down on a towel beside me, managing to pull it off with unparalleled grace, and without getting a single speck of sand anywhere on her. I subtly try to brush the sand from my calves without her noticing.

"So," I say awkwardly. "Miss Bathing Beauty, huh?"

She bestows upon me another killer smile. "Yeah. First I was the Miss Hope Town Bathing Beauty–" I've never even heard of the place "–Then the Miss Olivine City Bathing Beauty. Last year I came runner up in the Miss Johto Bathing Beauty. This year, I'm going to win."

She looks pretty determined. I certainly wouldn't want to stand in her way.

"And, uh… how did you meet my brother?"

"Well," she says, with a trilling laugh like the peal of a bell, "It's actually quite a funny story. See, we were playing beach volleyball–"

Oh, god. I don't even want to picture that.

And I really don't need to hear any more.

To be fair, Elena isn't an unpleasant person. On the contrary, she's super friendly and super nice (though that might just be because we only just met, and she probably thinks I'm ugly; aren't beautiful people especially nice to ugly people, because they think ugliness is like some kind of disability?), and she chats away easily while we sit on the sand.

It turns out, she's only a year my elder, though she looks so much more mature. That actually makes her younger than Zeke, too, which is an odd thought.

I wonder idly if she's taller than him.

As if sitting in the presence of such a blessedly-good-looking human being isn't bad enough, when Jess eventually returns from the waves, water dripping from his hair and running in fat, glistening beads down his well-muscled chest, his eyes nearly fall out of his head.

And there goes whatever was left of my confidence.

"Hi," he says, dropping onto the sand beside her. "I'm Jess. Are you a friend of Grace's?"

"Actually, we just met," Elena replies smoothly, extending one slender hand for him to shake. "Zeke introduced me."

I watch them out of the corner of my eye – the way his eyes flick immediately to her chest as they shake hands – and feel sick.

"I'm just going for a walk." I get up abruptly, wrenching my lucky sweater over my head. I don't care if I die of heatstroke. At least my pathetic body will be covered.

"You okay, Grace?" Jess asks, tearing his gaze from Elena to look at me. Concern flashes in his hazel eyes.

"Of course," I reply lightly, smiling it off. It feels forced and stiff. But hey – what can I do about it? "I'll be back."

I stalk away, the anger bubbling up in my chest much hotter than the sand burning beneath my toes.

XD

Elena joins us for dinner. Just fantastic.

Zeke seems to have taken the hint; we steer clear of Le Restaurant de Perles D'or, making reservations instead at The Sea Shell, an equally notorious, though less fancy-schmancy, beach-side terrace, painted all-white and specialising in spectacular sea food.

We sit at a wooden table on the balcony that overlooks the glistening ocean, the warm summer breeze toying with our hair and salting our lips.

Jess and I arrive first. I'm not very chatty tonight; I gaze wordlessly out across the sun-kissed water, watching the sunset blazing against the waves.

"You okay?" Jess asks. "You're pretty quiet."

I try to smile naturally. "I didn't realise playing at the beach was so exhausting. I just feel like sleeping."

He nods in understanding. "We won't stay long, then."

He says that now, before the exquisite creature arrives to steal his attention. I'm not exactly hopeful.

Perhaps he notices something in my face, or whatever, because he frowns a little and says, "Grace?"

I'm saved replying by the arrival of Zeke and Elena, who floats in, turning every head in the restaurant with her silky champagne-coloured cocktail dress and flowing hair.

I kind of hate her.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat as they pull their chairs out (well, as Zeke pulls their chairs out; I was unaware that a gentleman existed somewhere inside him), feeling suddenly inadequate in the rose-pink summer dress I'd been so looking forward to wearing.

Not only does it feel totally out-classed, it's babyish too. I can't believe I'd found it cute in the store. What was I thinking?

Needless to say, my appetite is pretty much killed straight away. Still, I manage to force down some fantastic grilled Remoraid and rocket salad. I use consumption as an excuse to avoid conversation, picking the pine nuts out of the salad moodily.

It's a shame I'm so grumpy; the salad is delicious, dressed in a light oil concoction and sprinkled with parmesan. Any other day, I'd have inhaled it in about two minutes.

Jess, Zeke and Elena chat away comfortably. Or rather, Zeke and Jess ask Elena lots of questions about herself, to which she happily divulges.

It's when she starts talking about all the celebrities she's been able to meet through her modelling that I realise just how much I don't want to be here right now.

I place my cutlery together on my plate. Instantly, Jess and Zeke look around.

"You're finished?" Zeke demands, looking mildly surprised.

"Yeah, um, I'm just not feeling that great," I lie, though I'm sure I don't look fantastic, either. I could probably pull off 'sick' pretty well if I wanted. "Please excuse me."

"Grace–" Jess begins hesitantly.

"I'm just going to the bathroom."

I make a quick escape, making sure I do, in fact, head for the toilets, since I'm pretty sure Jess is watching.

They're empty, thank the godly Cresselia. I stand at the basin, staring at my reflection in the mirror, hugging my arms self-consciously.

Do I really look that miserable?

And scrawny? And pale? And boggle-eyed?

My big green eyes blink back at me, filling slowly with tears. Taking a deep sniff of air, I blink them back, slapping at my cheeks to knock some sense into myself.

You're being silly, Grace. This is so unlike you. Stop it.

All the same, there's no way I'm going back to that table.

I splash my cheeks with cold water, fiddle with my bangs so they're sitting right, straighten my shoulders, and sneak back out, spying on the table outside to make sure no-one's looking this way.

They're not.

I dart for the door.

Outside, the warmth and silence are like a comforting embrace. I wander along the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, enjoying the last moments of the dying sunset, my shoes dangling from my fingers.

My eyes rake the shoreline, following the coastline from the lighthouse in the East all the way to the harbour in the West. The gleaming, white ferry looms up out of the water, like impending doom taking a palpable form.

Tomorrow, Zeke and I leave for Kanto.

Tomorrow, I have to say goodbye to Jess.

How I wish tonight could just _not _end, as awful as it's been. I'd rather suffer through a lifetime of Elena than leave Jess behind.

Okay, maybe that's a little dramatic. I don't think I could really endure a lifetime of Elena.

"Grace!"

I nearly jump out of my skin. Jess is striding up the sidewalk behind me.

I sigh and keep walking.

Great. Now my sulking has dragged Jess away from his dinner.

Grow up a bit, Grace. You should have just stayed there and sat out the rest of the night. Now look what you've done.

The Grand Clamperl is just across the street. Jess catches me up at the lights, right as they turn green.

"What's going on?" he demands, keeping up with me easily as we cross the road.

I don't look at him. "Nothing."

Even to my ears that sounds like utter bollocks.

"Right," Jess replies sarcastically. "You've been off all day. What's wrong?"

"Seriously, I'm just being stupid," I say shortly. "It really is nothing."

Well, at least it's true.

We head into the cool foyer of the hotel, ignoring the receptionist's friendly greeting as we breeze past, toward the elevators.

"Nothing?" Jess repeats, with a short, scornful laugh. "Sure."

He sounds like Zeke. I hate it. "Stop it. You're acting like Zeke."

"Well, I don't know who_ you're_ acting like," he retorts. "But it's not yourself."

I step into the elevator. "Go back to the restaurant."

As if to spite me, he follows me in. "Come on, Grace. As if I would."

In spite of my irritation, my heart kicks.

I say nothing.

As the lift smoothly ascends, Jess sighs long and heavy, holding the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

Finally he says, more gently, "What _happened _today?"

I'm silent for a long minute. He waits. I say, "Just… stuff."

"And you honestly thought you could pull the 'it's nothing, I'm fine' thing on me," Jess comments drily, staring at the list of floors and shaking his head.

Yeah. Who was I fooling?

The lift stops on our floor and I hurry out.

"It's Elena, isn't it?" Jess' voice echoes after me.

I blush hotly. "No."

"Grace, wait up." Argh! He's too intuitive. Now that he's figured it out, there's no way I can look him in the eye – I feel _so_ stupid.

Must. Escape. Now.

I nearly run to the room. But the downside to being short is that people with longer legs usually move faster than you, and Jess catches me up all too easily.

"She ruined my dress," I grumble reluctantly.

"What?" Now he just sounds confused. "How?"

"It's a girl thing," I mutter, fumbling with the key-card.

"Grace, just stop for a second so I can _talk _to you," Jess says, frustrated. The lock clicks, beeping as it releases the door. I push it open hopefully, but Jess reaches around me and grabs the handle, pulling it shut again before I can escape inside.

The lock clicks solidly again, to my dismay.

He forces me to turn around. "You're jealous, right?"

"No."

Damn it. My face is _on fire._ I look anywhere but up at him.

Jess sighs, tilting his head to try and catch my eye. "Why?"

It explodes from my lips before I can filter it. "She's just so beautiful! I feel so _stupid_…"

And I'm crying again. Fabulous. This night can't get any worse.

"Grace." He touches my chin. "Grace, look at me."

I sniffle. "No."

He fights laughter. "Come on. You're being silly."

Feeling foolish, I finally summon up enough courage to glance up.

He smiles. "Better." Wordlessly, he carefully brushes the stray tears from my cheeks and chin. "There. Now, the only thing you should feel stupid about is thinking like that."

I try to look back down, but he's caught my chin in his hands.

I swallow. "Jess, please go away."

I glance up helplessly, begging with my eyes.

He gives me a long, seriously shrewd look, and says, "No."

Then, in the too-bright hallway of The Grand Clamperl, with my back pressed up against the shiny blue door to room 9F, Jess kisses me.

To the godly Arceus, if you're up there somewhere, and you can hear me, if you can just freeze time _right now_, that'd be fantastic.

Because I don't think I want this moment to ever end.


	16. The Fifteenth Chapter!

**A/N: **We come, at last, to the finale of arc one. Huzzah! I hope you can handle this chapter, reader - it's stuffed with plot spanners I've thrown into the works, kind of everywhere. ;)

If you squint, there's perhaps a faint _flicker_ of implied PseudoIncestShipping in there, but only slight traces, so if you're allergic, the chapter should be more than fine for consumption. But, just like all the other little hints I've dropped here and there, they are there, if you look hard enough.

Thanks, everybody, for following so far! :)

* * *

**~ Fifteen ~**

**On Secondary Mishaps and Minor Detours**

* * *

The morning of our departure finds the three of us (plus Elena, for some reason), having breakfast in total silence.

I spread strawberry jam on my scone, glancing at Jess from beneath my eyelashes. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes flick up, but he shifts them away again immediately.

Yesterday's excitement has, for the moment, gone without discussion. Jess hasn't offered conversation, and I certainly don't know how to bring it up, or even if I want to. It could be a mighty awkward discussion. The kind that damages friendships. Besides, I wouldn't even know where to begin.

I have no idea what to think – about anything.

I guess it's not too awkward; I mean, it's not like the _kiss _(there, I'm bold enough to say it) went any further than that. Jess practically disappeared afterward, and I think I lost about three hours to a sappy post-first-kiss dream-state, so it's probably actually a good thing.

Being totally honest, I'm kind of relieved. I know _diddly squat_ about this sort of thing. Already my brain is torturing itself, worrying about stupid little things like whether or not my head was on the right angle, or whether it should have been more tilted; whether I closed my eyes or not (I seriously can't remember, and it's stressing me out – I'm pretty sure you're supposed to); whether I should have done something less awkward with my arms, which were just sort of pinned stiffly to my sides.

Whether Jess thinks I'm a bad kisser.

"Earth to Grace."

I jerk out of my reverie, and discover I'm staring, narrow-eyed and trance-like, at the milk jug, in a thoughtful sort of way, my head cocked to the side – like I've just discovered something amazing about it that no-one else has ever seen.

Zeke is giving me the strangest look. "You right there?"

I smile goofily. "Just contemplating the milk jug." Like it's perfectly rational behaviour.

He just stares at me like I'm a loony.

I glance again at Jess, but this time he doesn't look up.

Should I be disheartened by that? My heart can't help sinking a little. I feel like somehow, things have taken a negative turn. But _he_ kissed _me_ – I didn't screw anything up, right?

Elena clears her throat, somehow making it graceful. I'm not sure how she ended up in our suite last night, but here she is this morning, in a truly gorgeous form-fitting red dress, so I guess I kind of just have to go with it.

I'm subtly ignoring the glaringly obvious question as to where she slept. I don't think my brain can handle it.

"The tickets for tonight's ferry will sell out fast," she says. I watch the sun gleam against her sleek hair, wondering how she gets it to sit so perfectly. I mean, there is literally _not a hair out of place_ on that head.

How? It's physically not possible. _How does she do it?_

And how does she get it so… _shiny_?

Good god, you're distractible today, Grace. Focus!

I think Elena's just said something along the lines of 'you should buy your tickets as early as possible'. I look to Zeke, who just shrugs and stuffs his face with croissant.

Charming.

I can't bring myself to glance at Jess. After last night, atop everything else, the thought of leaving him is beyond nauseating. A panicky sort of feeling creeps into my chest and settles there stubbornly, clutching at my heart with cold fingers. The idea of being separated from him – someone who _actually_ feels like something solid and supportive to cling to, for the first time pretty much _ever _– is frighteningly real.

Silence reigns again, broken only by the chinking of cutlery against plates. Outside, Shep barks once at something in the street.

I sigh quietly. It's going to be a long day.

XD

Elena was right: the Harbour _is _busy. There are people everywhere, regular informative bulletins played over a PA system, and three intimidatingly long lines for what must be tickets.

Either that, or Sodapop is ludicrously popular today.

After doing a sweep of the suite, checking out, and hailing a stuffy, smelly cab that's so hot our legs stick to the linoleum seat covers, we cluster by a metal bench inside the Harbour's multipurpose ticket office/information centre with our bags in a pile at our feet.

Zeke disappears with his wallet.

I slouch at one end of the bench while we wait, my fingers toying with one long blade of stiff, potted Spinifex, my brain filled with the memory of Jess' lips against mine. Those thirty seconds play over and over again in my head, like a short clip set on repeat.

Elena sits at the other end of the bench, her knees crossed, looking perfect and bored. Jess stands, examining a brochure that appears to be deeply interesting, if his furrowed expression is anything to go by.

Zeke returns, two spots of red high on his cheeks. He shoots me a flustered look. "Give us your card."

"What?" I blink at him stupidly. Jess is kissing me again.

Zeke's eyebrows pull down sharply. "Your credit card. I need it. _Geez_."

I reach obediently for my pack. "Why?"

"Because if we want tickets, we have to hurry the hell up," he retorts, and clicks his fingers at me impatiently. "Any day now, Grace."

Elena is watching, wordless. Jess has glanced up from the brochure.

"Why mine?" I ask, confused, handing the empowering little card over and carefully controlling my bubbling temper. "What happened to yours?"

He snatches it. "Wait here."

Offering little else, he disappears again. I glance at Jess, who just shrugs and buries his nose in the brochure once more.

When Zeke returns again, his whole face is bright red, and his neck, too. There's an odd sort of expression on his face; bewilderment, mixed with a bit of irritation and what your face might look like if you've just put something completely disgusting in your mouth but can't spit it out because it'd majorly offend the person who made it.

"What's wrong?" I ask, frowning. Something prickles down the back of my neck; it's like a premonition – like I already know. Whatever's going on, it's not good.

Zeke looks at me and says, "We've got a problem."

Jess folds the brochure. "What?"

"The cards aren't working," Zeke replies, examining one of them.

"What do you mean 'not working'?" Jess replies, his tone sharpening.

Zeke shrugs. "Must be faulty. We should get some new ones."

"How?" I ask. I've only ever had the one; Dad's never given me a 'new' one. I didn't know you could _get _a new one.

Zeke makes a non-committal noise. "From the bank, probably. We should go now, so we can get on a later ferry."

"Hold on," Jess says, reaching for the card Zeke is flipping in his fingers. "Wait a second. _What do you mean, not working_?"

"What I said," Zeke replies, giving Jess a scornful look. "The machine spat them both out. I didn't have enough cash on me, so we need to go get some new ones then come back–"

"No, you don't," Jess says. "And you can't just walk in and get a new card. Something's obviously not right."

"Like what?" Zeke and I demand in unison.

"Like _maybe _you haven't got enough money in your accounts," Jess replies, folding his arms. "You _have _had a pretty big last few days."

Zeke snorts. "Impossible. I've never not had enough money."

"Yeah," I agree firmly. "Dad's card never gets rejected."

Jess gives me a curiously contemplative sort of look, like he's considering something he's only just thought of. Like he's learned something new about me.

I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not.

"Well," he says hesitantly, "if you're sure there's nothing wrong with your accounts, we obviously need to try the cards somewhere else to make sure. It could just be that they're not compatible with these machines. Though I doubt that, somehow."

"We may as well just go to the bank, then," Zeke replies shortly. "At least then if we need to get new cards we can, _and _they can tell us what the hell's going on."

Jess considers this plan, then shrugs in consent.

I marvel in their moment of unification as we haul our packs onto our shoulders and set off on our unexpected detour.

XD

"Your card has been maxed out."

These words are lost on me. "What?"

The lady gives me an incredulous sort of look from behind her small, oval frames. "It means you've reached the cut-off point for how much you can spend."

Come again?

She makes an exasperated sort of noise and tries again. "Every card has a limitation placed on it – a fixed amount that the card holder can spend. Once you reach that fixed amount, the card is unusable until the debt is paid off. You've just about reached that point – there's about two thousand Poké left."

Limitation? Fixed amount? Debt?

This is a foreign language to me, and I'm in dire need of a dictionary.

Or a translator.

"So… I can't spend any more money?" That's the gist of what I got from the last two minutes.

"You can spend two thousand, eight hundred and eighty-five Poké," the teller replies. "_Then_ you can't spend any more money."

Holy mother of Arceus. This is a _disaste_r. Something _terrible_ has happened to Dad's card.

"Okay, um, thanks," I say, taking the card back. "I'll call my dad and sort it out."

She gives me a fake, tight-lipped sort of smile. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

Well, you can start by pulling the pencil out of your butt. "No. Thank you."

"So?" Zeke demands as I rejoin the three of them in the lobby. "What did they say?"

"Uh," I reply, trying to remember what she'd told me. "She said it's 'maxed out'?"

Jess gives a low whistle. "That's bad."

Zeke shoots him a glower. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Basically," I reply, before Jess can open his mouth and blow Zeke's fuse. "It means we can't spend any more money."

"WHAT?"

We quickly usher Zeke outside before his minor blow-up attracts the entire bank's attention. Out in the heat of the baking sun, he paces restlessly, his hands jammed in his back pockets, blabbering away furiously. A stream of profanities falls from his lips, eating the better half of about three minutes.

"How are we supposed to get to Kanto?" he demands. "We can't buy ferry tickets if our cards are – what was it? – maxed? This is ridiculous."

Jess leans calmly against the brick wall. The bank's logo is mounted high above his head. "Clearly you need a new plan," he says. "Either way you look at it, you're not going to be getting on that ferry today."

Unless I'm mistaken, I detect a hint of smugness in his tone.

"Shut up, Applesap," Zeke retorts hotly. Here we go. He's back from his freak out. Maybe we'll actually get somewhere now.

Elena is holding a glossy magazine over her head, shading her face from the sun. "Not to pressure you, or anything," she says, squinting. Her nose wrinkles. "But I can't stay too much longer in the sun, or I'll wreck my tan…"

Why is she still here? Seriously. By now, I'd have thought she'd be long gone – especially considering she's just found out we possibly have no money.

Icy horror cascades through my veins.

Oh god. No money. I can't even begin to get my head around that.

Zeke curses, scuffing his shoe angrily against the sidewalk.

I swallow, a thought crossing my mind. "I'll just call Dad."

Jess glances at me. I continue. "He'll sort it all out."

After a long moment, Zeke's shoulders drop. He turns to face me. "Fine." He licks his lips. "Fine. Let's find somewhere with a phone." He grabs his pack, shouldering it and taking off at a stomp. "Let's go. Hurry up."

Phew. Thank god we got that situation under control.

He did _not_ handle that well.

XD

It feels weird to be back at the Pokémon Centre. Probably because last time we were here, we only stayed because Santos was sick.

Now we might be here indefinitely, because we have nowhere else to go.

That kind of makes us just like every other Trainer out there.

Weird thought.

I leave Zeke, Jess and Elena resting on a lime-green backless sofa and chuck a few coins into one of the public telephones against the wall, bypassing the line of video-call monitors.

I try the penthouse first, but there's no answer, which is odd. Dad's cell phone rings out – three times. I leave a frosty voice message and try the only other contact I've stored in my phone.

Dad's PA picks up after four rings. "Jefferson Ironwood."

"Hi, it's Grace."

His silence is thick. I realise he doesn't know who I am. Ha. "Grace Buckthorn – Vance's daughter?"

"Oh," he says, genuinely surprised. "Uh, your father isn't with me, so I suggest you try his cell–"

"I did already," I interrupt. It's kind of rude, I know, but he's never exactly been the most helpful guy, for someone who organises all my dad's affairs. "I'm just wondering if you have a contact number for the hotel he's staying in at the moment."

Because obviously my dad's away again. And Jefferson always has all the numbers. My dad's always reachable through him.

"Uh, no, I don't," Jefferson replies uncomfortably.

He's lying. What the hell? "Do you know where he is at the moment?"

"I don't. Sorry, kiddo."

Okay, something seriously weird is going on with Jefferson. I frown into the receiver. "Did he leave any messages with you? Anything about when he'd be back, or who to call in an emergency?"

"Not that I know of. Look, I'm kind of busy–"

I decide to cut the crap before he can hang up on me. "Jefferson, what the hell is going on? _Where _is my dad? And I need a contact number for him, or someone I can reach him through, or I'm going to call this number and leave angry voice messages until you get back to me. Please save us both the trouble and just make life easier for everyone instead."

There's a long pause. Then Jefferson sighs. "I honestly don't know where he is, kid. He took off without telling me anything. But I do know he's left emergency instructions with the housekeeper, so if you're going to torture anyone, call her." He looks up her number and repeats it to me. "Now, I'm real busy, so excuse me."

The line disconnects. I stare in confusion at the numbers I've punched into the main screen of my cell.

What in the name of godly Arceus is going on? He's left instructions with_ Adhya_? I wasn't even aware he knew her name.

Jess appears at my elbow and says quietly, "What's happening?"

I glance at him, inserting more coins. "I have no idea. Everything's really weird. I can't get in contact with Dad."

He frowns slightly. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

Not really. I shake my head as the phone dials. Eventually, Adhya's thickly-accented voice answers.

"Adhya? It's Grace."

She makes some sort of exclamation of surprise, or shock. Or both.

I scowl at the receiver. Why is everyone treating the sound of my voice like a sign that the Black Plague is arriving?

Seriously not cool.

"Adhya, what's going on?" I ask, enunciating each word clearly. "Why aren't you at the penthouse?"

I'm painfully aware that Jess is listening curiously, his face making interesting expressions at words like 'penthouse'.

Adhya jabbers away at me in broken English. In spite of her long assimilation into Johto, her European roots made grasping a fluent level of the language impossible. I never knew whether washing day was Wednesday or Thursday, no matter how many conversations we had about it. It must have been at least a hundred.

From my understanding, neither Dad nor Camilla have been at the penthouse for some time, the staff has been indefinitely dismissed, and Dad isn't even in the country.

This just gets weirder and weirder.

She leaves a random number, makes some excuse I don't have a hope of understanding, and hangs up.

I turn, wide-eyed, to Jess. "My Dad's not even in the country. Adhya's at home. And the penthouse is completely locked up."

He pulls a concerned face, but it cracks and he fights a sheepish grin. "I'm sorry. I have no idea what that means. But I assume it's bad."

"It's bad," I confirm gravely, then trot off in search of Zeke.

XD

We book a cheap room at the Centre for the night. It's cramped – three people's packs (and Elena's two suitcases) take up practically all the floor space – so we dump our stuff and hang out in the lobby.

It's a tense, unenjoyable afternoon. Until we know what's going on, we can't go anywhere, do anything, or make any decisions.

Until I can get onto my dad, we have no option but to wait.

Elena is easily amused. She reclines on a sofa with an array of fashion magazines, flipping pages at her leisure and somehow managing to look like a goddess, even with the juveniles shouting and arguing behind her.

Zeke is not so simply entertained. After sitting at the booth with me and Jess, pretending we're not there and watching Trainers coming and going, he moves to the sofas with Elena, where he watches a couple of Pokémon programs in succession. Then, bored again, he disappears into the depths of the Pokémon Centre, reminding me strikingly of the time we fought at the Snowtop Mountain Centre.

I'm watching a kid beseech Nurse Joy over the lifeless form of a fainted Wooper when Jess' fingers nudge my arm from across the table, and he interrupts the companionable silence with, "Question ten?"

I grin. "One day I'll ask you first."

"Until then," he replies, hazel eyes twinkling, "What is–" He pauses thoughtfully "–your fondest memory?"

Well. This one's easy enough.

"When I was really little," I begin, interweaving my fingers while I speak, "my dad and I went shopping. I don't even remember what we were getting, or why I'd gone with him. But we went to the Goldenrod department store, and we took a break on the rooftop."

Jess is listening intently, like I'm telling him a spooky story over a campfire.

Super cute. I smile secretively into my fingers and continue. "My dad bought us both a can of soda, then picked me up, put a coin into the binoculars, and we looked out over the city. We picked strangers out on the streets and made up stories about their lives. I don't remember any of them – but I remember laughing and laughing with him."

I shrug casually. "That's the only memory I have of spending solo time like that with my dad." I don't add that it's also the only time I remember him hugging me. Pity party to the max. "It's the most fun I remember having with him. Sometimes, when I had a really bad day back home, I'd go back up there and play his game." I laugh suddenly. "I'd make myself feel better by making up really crappy stories about other people – I made their lives seem so much worse than mine."

"Such a nice girl," Jess replies, with an eye roll.

"Hey," I protest. "Sometimes I made good stories, too. Especially if I'd just finished reading a sappy romance novel."

He laughs, the sunlight hitting his eyes and diluting them to a warm, murky brown.

I poke his fingers over the table. "So what's _your _happy memory?" I have a sudden thought, and interrupt as he parts his lips to answer. "Wait, don't speak. Let me guess – your grandpa, right? The Rapidash story?"

He gives me a surprised look.

I blush, feeling kind of stupid. "Am I even a little bit close?"

"Very, actually," he replies. "That one came runner up." He grins. "Good guess."

Okay, so it actually wasn't too bad. Pat on the back, Grace.

"Okay," Jess begins, wetting his lips. "So I'm about eight years old, and my brother takes me and Andy – who's about four – out trail riding. It's pretty harmless, obviously, if Mom's letting Andy come, too. And it should have been fine, but for some reason, Luke's Ponyta decides to spook about halfway home. His Ponyta spooks mine, and I get thrown off."

I gasp, horrified even though he was _clearly_ fine afterward.

Jess shoots me a small smile. "It was the first time I broke a bone – my arm fractured. And I sprained my ankle in the fall, too. I couldn't walk, and I wouldn't stop crying. Luke – who's only ten – managed to calm my Ponyta, keep Andy calm _and _get us all back home, all by himself. He put Andy in the saddle and carried me on his back."

He smiles fondly. "I remember him telling me we were nearly home, distracting me with stories and games. And he told me girls dug scars and broken bones, so everyone would think I was so cool when I had a cast."

He laughs. "Then we were home, and Dad was taking care of my arm, and Mom was making fresh banana smoothies and everything was all right again. That was when I first started really looking up to Luke."

I'm touched by his story. "He sounds like a good brother."

"He is – was," Jess replies, looking uncomfortable. "Er…"

"He'll be back, Jess," I say confidently, reaching for his fingers. I can't stand the sadness on his face – I just want to get him smiling again. He's like a baby Growlithe caught in the rain, howling at the back door. I squeeze his hand encouragingly. "You sing his praises so much, and he seems like such a _good_ person. He'll come back."

"Good people don't walk out on their loving families," he argues bluntly.

"He's probably just going through a difficult stage of his life," I reply, sounding much wiser than I actually am. "People get over stages." I shrug. "You throw a boomerang, and it curves back eventually – boomerangs _always _return."

A small smile curves the corners of his lips. His eyes are soft, like warm hazelnut cocoa.

Mmm… cocoa.

Focus, Grace! Stern face.

Jess squeezes my hand back, then disentangles our fingers with a sigh. "I'll be back."

He gets up from the table, and I watch him walk away, musing unhappily to myself that he really is quite stuck on this brother-disappearing-act thing.

I think it bothers him a lot more than he lets on. And _that_ bothers _me_.

XD

Late that night, after a dinner of bulk-produced spaghetti meatballs and too-crusty French stick bread with Jess, Zeke, the ever-present Elena and way too much silence to be comfortable, I finally manage to get onto my dad.

I've been calling him at infrequent intervals throughout the day, getting told by an assortment of people that my father isn't available to take calls, and I've given up on the number Adhya gave me. It belongs to a hotel called the Bayview, not that means much to me. The receptionists must be so sick of me – they're starting to recognise my voice already.

So I try his mobile, one last unhopeful ditch.

He picks up after four rings. "Vance Buckthorn."

He must have answered because the Pokémon Centre phones come up as silent numbers. Hallelujah.

"Dad? It's me."

Idiot, Grace. Who else calls him 'dad'?

"Gracie?" He sounds startled. "This is unexpected. How are you? I trust you made it to Vermillion safely."

A bubble of irritation swells in my chest. As if he was ever actually concerned about that. "Uh, no. Not yet. We're in Olivine City. More importantly – where are _you_?"

His booming laugh comes down the phone, and for a second, it's so familiar and reminds me so much of home that my chest aches. I swallow it down.

"We're on holiday at the moment, touring the Orange Islands."

No. Freaking. Way.

"_What_?" I'm so stunned for a second I'm utterly speechless. "Since _when_? And why didn't you tell anyone?"

"It was very spur-of-the-moment," he replies casually, and quickly changes the topic. Suspicious. "So, you're not far now, Gracie. When does your ferry leave?"

"Well," I say, refocusing on my reason for calling. "That's the thing. It was supposed to leave today. We were buying our tickets, but the cards were rejected – both mine _and _Zeke's. We thought there was something wrong with them, so we took them to the bank. But the lady told me our cards had reached their limits."

It suddenly hits me that I've actually managed to get a hold of Dad, which means everything's _actually_ going to be okay – all we have to do now is wait for him to sort it all out.

The pressure's off.

I laugh lightly. "I told the lady there was a weird mistake or something going on, and that you'd fix it. You _can _fix it, right?"

There's an uncomfortable sort of silence. Oh, god. I don't even want to know what that means. I repeat slowly, "Dad?"

"Actually, Gracie–" he begins awkwardly, but I cut him off, my voice sharp.

"Dad, what's going on?"

He sighs dejectedly. "Camilla thought it would be good for the two of you to live off a limited amount of money. So you'd learn about budgeting and managing your money, and the expenses of the world."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Ice rushes through my body. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm sorry, Gracie," Dad's voice replies, but my mind is buzzing with numbness; I can hardly hear him. "Whatever's left on your card is what you've got to work with."

Oh, man. Zeke is _not _gonna respond well to this.

I open fire on my father. "So what are we supposed to do? No-one _told _us we were getting cut off. If we'd _known _maybe we could have done something about it. Maybe we wouldn't be in this situation right now. We're _stranded_, Dad." My voice is rising with anger, each word a decibel of shrill fury. "_Stranded. _We can't afford ferry tickets, and there's no way we have enough money to make it home. What do you suggest we do, since you're the one who got us into this mess?"

"I'm sorry, Gracie, but you're just going to have to figure something out," he replies, and he sounds so pathetically unhelpful that my temper blows its fuse. I'm instantly sick of talking to him. I don't even care what else he's going to say.

"Yeah. Okay." Sarcasm drips from my voice like poison. "Thanks, Dad, for everything."

I slam the receiver down violently.

I hate her.

I hate her so goddamn much.

I hate, hate, hate_, hate, HATE _her!

"So?"

It's not Jess. It's Zeke.

Odd.

I round on him explosively, guns blazing. "I _hate _your mother!"

He jerks back, startled, blue eyes widening. "What–"

"She's ruining _everything_!" I shriek, jabbing his chest sharply with an angry finger.

"Ow, Grace! What the _hell_–"

"We have _no_ money," I hiss, because people are glancing at us curiously. "Because _your mother_ decided to convince_ my father _to put a freaking _limit _on both our cards. And he's not going to take it off because we need to learn about 'the expenses of the world', or some shit."

The blood drains from his face. "What?"

"Yeah," I repeat spitefully, jabbing him again because I need to expel this hateful energy somehow, and I'm surprisingly enjoying inflicting pain on him.

I level a furious glare at him.

There's so much rage within me right now, I wouldn't be surprised if my eyes catch alight. Instead, though, they start misting up. Of course.

I growl and jab him again. "We're screwed, Zeke. We're _stuck _here."

"For starters," he snaps icily, grabbing my pointer. "Stop _attacking_ me." He throws my hand down angrily, seething. Then he takes a deep breath and says, "Fine. Then we'll just go home."

"Don't kid yourself," I reply shortly, with a bark-like, unamused laugh. "If we had enough money to get home, we'd have enough for the ferry. How do you expect to pay for food and supplies, let alone accommodation?"

He runs one hand through his hair, swearing thickly, as the full weight of our disaster crashes down on him with unbearable clarity. "This is _not _happening."

"Oh, but it is," I reply emphatically, glad that I've got someone to take this out on – and very glad that it's Zeke, the one who deserves it. "I can assure you, this _hell _your mother decided to throw us in is very, _very _real."

"Enough with the melodrama," Zeke spits contemptuously. "Jesus."

I'm so angry I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like kicking a wall, or ripping up a goose-feather pillow and stomping on all the feathers, or screaming into the night until my breath runs out.

Instead, I throw my hands up in agitation and thunder from the lobby.

XD

Breakfast the next day is a very sombre affair.

We all sit around the table desolately, picking silently at our uneaten plates.

"Look," Jess says finally, breaking the awful gloom. "It's not _that_ bad. You can deal with this."

"How?" I ask dully.

He doesn't reply. I think he was just being optimistic for the sake of it.

"We can't do nothing," I say eventually. My voice sound tired and miserable.

"So what do _you _suggest we do, genius?" Zeke retorts spitefully.

Yeah. Like Jess, I was just talking for the sake of filling the silence.

But after my big blow up last night, I don't have the energy or mental capacity to get annoyed with him. I just push my muesli around my bowl moodily.

"You guys know what you've gotta do?" Elena pipes up, the only one actually making an attempt at her breakfast. Mind you, she hardly counts; all she ever eats is the garnish. So this morning, that equates to the apricots on top of her oats.

Nonetheless, we all give her our attention.

She flicks her glossy dark hair and it slips down her back like water. Her fine-chain necklace is resting perfectly between her collarbones. Today's look is the classic beachy sailor-suit, with a modern yet classic twist; navy and white dress, red kerchief tied stylishly at the neck, cork wedges.

Damn it, why does she have to be so flawless?

"You need to look at what you've got, look at what you need, and figure out the steps needed to achieve it," she says simply.

We're all struck silent.

Oh, my god. There's a _brain _in there. And it _works._

I glance at Jess in wonder. He shrugs slightly.

Twenty minutes later, we're regrouping back at the table. Zeke and I checked how much was available on both our cards, and Jess looked up ferry ticket prices on the internet.

"Okay," Jess begins. "You guys need thirty thousand Poké for two ferry tickets."

Oh, sweet Jesus.

I glance at Zeke. His expression remains unchanged, but a flicker of hopelessness flashes in the depths of his eyes.

Jess looks up. "How much do you guys have?"

We're both silent. Neither wants to be the bearer of bad news.

Eventually I bite the bullet. "Five thousand, eight hundred and ninety-five."

"No," Jess says, with a slight laugh. "_Together_."

The silence then is horrible.

It dawns on Jess. "Oh."

Elena saves us the humiliation. "Okay. So you need to come up with… twenty-four thousand, one hundred and… five Poké." She glances at us, mistakenly taking our stunned silence as her having miscalculated. "Right?"

"No, that's right," Jess reassures her. He fights to conceal how impressed he is. I'm pretty sure we all do.

Elena is _smart._ Who'd have thought?

Twenty-four thousand Poké has never seemed like a lot of money to me, but now that all I can spend amounts to five thousand, it seems enormous.

I have no idea how we're going to come up with that kind of money.

"How the hell are we going to pull twenty-four thousand out of our asses?" Zeke demands doubtfully.

Elena shrugs. "Get a job."

Oh my god. Get the hell out.

Seriously. Looks, brains _and_ logic? It's just _not fair._

But she has a point, as unpleasant a thought as that is.

It's also one I've never had to think before.

A job. Work. Career. Shifts. Rosters. Pay days. Nine to five hours. A _job._

"Grace, you listening?" Jess asks suddenly, interrupting my slightly horrified internal monologue.

"Huh? Yeah. What?"

"I was just saying," Elena repeats, "that there's tons of work in the Whirl Islands at the moment, because the Whirl Cup is on. You'd have to get down there fast, though; the tournament's nearly over. There's only a week or so left until the closing ceremony."

Oh, I forgot all about the Whirl Cup. No wonder Olivine City seemed unusually busier than I remembered.

Mystery solved!

"That's probably not a bad plan," Jess says thoughtfully. "Working at the tournament would pay pretty well, I'd imagine."

"Doing what?" Zeke snorts derisively. "Selling hot dogs and sodas in a tacky lime-green polo shirt? I don't think so."

"If it gets us to Vermillion City–" I begin, but he cuts me off.

"If it gets _you _to Vermillion. _I _don't technically have any reason to be there."

Wait, what? Does that mean he's not going to come with me anymore?

I feel oddly not-okay with that.

"So, do we only need fifteen thousand Poké now?" Elena asks, confused. "That'd make things much easier."

"No," Jess replies firmly. "We still need thirty thousand."

"Why?" Zeke and I ask in unison.

Jess shoots Zeke a challenging look. "If you're not going to take her, I will."

My heart flips.

"Shove off," Zeke spits venomously. "Whoever said I wasn't still taking her?"

"You did," Jess retorts. "About twenty seconds ago."

Oh, good. So I'm not hearing things. That's a relief.

"I simply said–"

"Either way," Elena interrupts, raising her voice to speak over them. "We still need thirty thousand, because _someone _is going with her."

They both fall silent, shooting daggers at each other across the table.

"If it helps," Elena continues, glancing between me and Zeke, "I have contacts among the tournament staff, so I can probably get you guys some work pretty easily."

This girl's fantasticness is making it really hard to stay in her vicinity. Right now, it's like I want to hate her – so, _so _much – but I can't, because she's just too damn nice.

And helpful.

And smart.

And beautiful.

And freaking _perfect._

"There's a Pokémon Centre down there," Zeke recalls. "So I guess we'll just have to stay there. It's cheaper than trying to find a hotel."

"I can go one better," Jess replies, a little smugly. "I have a cousin on Red Rock Isle. I'm sure he'd be cool with us staying with him."

"But, Jess–" I begin hesitantly, but again I'm cut off.

"It'll be fine. I'll just call Mom and tell her what's happening," Jess says. "She'll understand."

I can't help but feel like he's doing so much for us – making so many sacrifices – but not getting anything in return. None of this would be of any benefit to him.

Guilt crashes in my ears.

"Jess," I say, and pause before I continue, already disliking the taste of the next words in my mouth. "Don't you want to go home?"

My heart sinks heavily.

Well, it was about time we faced the bull head-on. We couldn't avoid the inevitable forever.

He gives me a wide, twinkle-eyed grin. "Are you kidding?"

His confidence is infectious; I grin, too, my inhibitions appeased – at least for the moment.

"Okay," Zeke says, scowling as he interrupts our joyful moment. "So we crash with Applesap's cousin and find work through Elena's contacts. That's all good and well–" Well, isn't he the perfect little spoiled ingrate, taking everything around him for granted? "–But how are we supposed to get there? I'm sure ferry tickets to the Whirl Islands aren't cheap, either."

"I've got to be down there for the closing ceremony," Elena interjects calmly. "It's one of the Miss Olivine Bathing Beauty jobs. I've got a private catamaran to take me over. We can use that."

"You," Jess says in admiration, "are brilliant."

She beams, and it's so lovely it hurts.

But I have no right to feel resentful of her fantasticness right now; if this all works out somehow in the end, she will have saved our asses. Big time.

I suppose I should grovel at her feet, really.

"Okay," Jess says carefully, like he's worried if he gets too set on the plan it might shatter into pieces in his hands. "Are we doing this? Are we seriously committing to this plan?"

Zeke shrugs dismissively.

I nod. "We're doing it."

Jess sets his mouth in a firm line. "Okay. Then just let me call home, and we'll get this show on the road."

XD

After that, things happen very quickly. Alarmingly quickly.

The Applesaps are surprisingly okay with Jess extending his trip to come to the Whirl Islands with us. After a short video-chat with his mom, Jess returns, all smiles, his voice laced with the excitement of a new adventure.

Elena puts in a few calls, pulls a couple of strings, and manages to land us positions as snack-sellers during the matches. The only problem is that we have to start pretty much straight away. Which means we have to pack and check out of the Pokémon Centre by eleven o'clock, considering Elena's organised for the catamaran to take us down _today_, and the only time it's available is at one.

Apparently, the demand for catamarans in Olivine City is quite high.

To my surprise, we're all ready to go at a quarter to eleven. Having double and triple-checked that nothing was forgotten, we meet in the lobby, return the room key to Nurse Joy, and pick up our Pokémon. Then, shouldering our packs, we head out into the sun to hail a cab to take us to the Harbour.

It's a short, pleasant drive. A lazy, jazzy tune plays quietly in the background, filling the comfortable silence in the back of the taxi, and the sun streams through the window to warm my face. Olivine City flashes past in a blur of coral-coloured hotels and fairy-light-entwined palm trees, and all too soon, we're pulling into the parking lot.

"You guys wait here," Elena instructs, striding off with Zeke to find out where the catamaran is.

Jess and I wait on the jetty with the pile of packs and Elena's suitcases. Behind the ticket office/information centre, the huge white ferry – the _S.S. Aqua_ – looms up out of the water like a giant, shiny plastic iceberg. Sunlight gleams on its hull in bright sparkles.

"Scary, isn't it?" Jess comments, following my squinting gaze.

I look at him. "What is?"

"If not for this setback, you could be boarding that ship right now."

Huh. I hadn't thought of that. But he's right – on both accounts.

It would be terrifying to be getting on that ferry to Vermillion right now.

I look back at him, offering him a shy smile.

Unsurprisingly, he gives me a perceptive look, his lips twitching, like he already knows what I'm about to say.

I consider not saying it.

But there's so much that hasn't been said lately – that probably _needs _to be said – that there's no way I'm adding to the pile. It's already weighing me down.

"Hey, Jess?" I pause, blushing. I hope he just thinks it's because I'm hot under the sun. "I'm really glad you're coming with us."

He tilts his head to the side, like he's trying to get a better angle in the light, and, shoving his hands in his pockets, wanders casually around the pile of packs to where I'm leaning against a wooden bollard.

"Me, too."

He stops before me, his head blocking out the sun when I glance up at him. He looks straight into my eyes – in that unnervingly insightful way of his – but I hold his gaze for as long as I can.

Which is about five seconds, before I start blushing furiously.

Ugh. What _is _it about him that just gets me squirming when he looks at me?

His laughter is quiet, but I catch it, glancing up incredulously. His eyes twinkle mischievously, all warmth and amusement and understanding, and he reaches up nonchalantly to toy with a strand of blonde that decided to blow the wrong way in the wind.

Wordlessly, he tucks it behind my ear, his eyes finding mine again.

And I'm lost for words.

But you know, there doesn't always need to be words. I'm starting to realise that. Sometimes it's the little moments like these that say more than a hundred millions words ever could.

"Guys!" Elena's voice calls, and Jess drops his hand, stepping away from me. My heart starts beating again – a fast, painful thumping in my chest – and I lick my lips, squinting down the pier.

Elena's beckoning us, waving one slender brown arm in the air. Behind her, Zeke's standing impatiently, his hands in his pockets.

Jess shoots me a grin. "Come on."

He hauls up an armful of packs and I drag the rest along the planks after him.

Now that he's coming along, too, we've got plenty of time to work out what's going on with us. There's no rush anymore, no urgency, no fear of being separated at any moment.

We can talk later.

Besides, right now, I've got enough to focus on – in about two minutes I have to try and somehow board a catamaran without falling into the ocean.

What? I can totally do it.

I turn my face towards the sun and smile out across the glittering waters. Somewhere on the horizon is the next chapter of my life, and it's filling me with anticipation – an even mix of nerves and excitement. I have no idea what to expect.

But, hey, that's the best way to do it, right?

* * *

**End of Arc One**


	17. Arc 2: It's the Hard Knock Life

**07 / 27 / 2012**

I took some time after receiving some critical reviews to reflect on the direction I was taking this story, and to make some appropriate adjustments. That's why we disappeared off the radar for a while, but we're back! And I hope this arc is more consistent and balanced than the last one (I went on a little romance-spree at the end of arc one and totally segued from the pokémon plot. Whoops). I've also joined the pokémon-are-not-proper-nouns side of the debate. So no more capitals unless they're nicknames.

This chapter has been re-written no less than four times (not kidding). Please note that it deals with a lot of administration (in fact, the first few chapters do), but I've done my best to work in some interesting stuff too. This arc will attempt to bring back the pokémon focus and reel in a bit of the romantic side of things. Having said that, I'm not just going to completely wipe out all the interrelationship development, because I really enjoy exploring character depth, and so far it's been pretty popular with you guys too. I do acknowledge that it's time to bring back the pokémon theme though. But please bear with me, because I'm a little unsteady on my feet going into this arc, after all the changes.

Thanks to all the old readers, if you're still there, and to any new ones - welcome! :)

* * *

**Arc Two**

**{It's the Hard Knock Life}**

* * *

**~ One ~**

**On Sea Legs and Induction Days**

* * *

It's a _beautiful _day. Cloudless blue skies as far as the eye can see, a refreshing wind that leaves salt on our lips, glittering blue-green waters that lap lazily at the hull of the catamaran.

The perfect day to be at sea.

Unless, of course, you get sea-sick. Like me. Jess rubs my back sympathetically as another crippling surge seizes my body and I heave over my bucket.

Yep. A _fantastic_ day to be at sea.

I discovered this delightful facet of me several hours ago when we clambered aboard the gleaming white luxury boat and set course for Blue Point Isle. The motor grumbled to life, choking frothy white foam that left a trail in our wake, and I enjoyed the wind in my hair and spray in my face for all of twenty seconds.

Then we hit the first swell, which twisted my stomach violently as it rolled under the boat, and I decided it wasn't quite as much fun anymore.

Ahead of us is the vast shoreline of our destination: Scarlet City, Red Rock Isle's capital, which Jess tells me conversationally is famous for its terracotta-tiled roofs and ancient-Greek architecture.

Unfortunately, I'm having a bit of trouble paying attention.

Forcibly expelling your lunch through your oesophagus can do that to a person.

To humour him, though, I obediently raise my head to look, doing my best to pretend I can't see Zeke with his arm draped lazily round Elena's bronzed shoulder up on the deck.

Needless to say, my efforts fail. Though, behind them, Scarlet City _is_ unarguably beautiful.

I can't decide what's more disgusting: Them, or my seasickness. It's a pretty tight competition.

Santos, who's been moping and sulking since we parted ways with Chloe and Ebony (and, by extension – and more to the point – Toby) is squished up against my side, like she's trying to somehow replace her missing companion. Her little black eyes are fixed uncertainly on the rolling ocean, like she still doesn't fully understand it.

I suppose living in a pine forest in the snowy mountains all your life could do that to a pokémon.

Rex, on the other hand, has been frolicking up and down the catamaran's twin hulls all afternoon, snapping his jaws at sea spray and laughing at his reflection whenever he's daring enough to peek over the edge at the water.

Apparently he's become bored; he's sitting a few feet away, staring curiously at either Santos or my sick bucket (it's difficult to tell which), his blue tail swishing lazily against the fibreglass.

"You stay there," I warn weakly, and he snaps his jaws at me jovially.

Seriously. The last thing I need right now is a Water Gun to the face.

"Shep!" Jess calls suddenly, his voice carried by the wind. The growlithe turns his head where he's sitting at the tip of one buoyant hull, keeping watch.

"Come away from there now," Jess instructs. "We'll be making port soon."

Shepherd obediently trots back to us, casting a suspicious look at Rex as he passes by. He plonks his butt down behind me and Jess, staring accusingly at the water lizard.

Rex doesn't appear to notice. Or, alternatively, care.

I think guiltily that El Scorchio must be cramped in his pokéball, and for a single, fleeting second, I almost wish I'd let him out. It would seem, however, that I'm becoming wiser with experience – coupling my previous encounters with the fire slug with the understanding that contact between fire-type pokémon and vast expanses of water is likely to produce less-than-ideal results, I came to the sensible conclusion that we'd all be safer with him _inside_ his pokéball for this particular leg of our travels.

Jess is right about our ride being nearly over – thank the godly cresselia. Pretty soon we're closing in on the harbour, the engines chuckling quietly as we slow to pull into the jetty. Our driver enlists Jess to help him tie up the boat so we can return the pokémon and disembark.

I can safely say I've never been happier to be on solid ground.

Jess steadies me as my knees shake violently. "Are you okay?"

I suck in a steadying breath, begging my churning tummy to settle. "I'm never getting on a boat again. Ever."

He fights a laugh. "We'll get some travel medicine before we leave the island, alright?"

Deal. Otherwise he'll literally have to bind my arms and legs to stop me from fleeing, and carry me aboard with the packs.

Scarlet City doesn't have a big port like Olivine; just the little dock we've stumbled onto. The city sprawls right to the water's edge; across the street the white Grecian structures rise majestically from the ground, the tell-tale red rooves burning in the late afternoon sun.

It's powerfully impressive.

"Come on," Zeke snaps impatiently over his shoulder, interrupting the private moment I'm sharing with the city. Without waiting, he snatches up his pack and strides away with Elena.

Glaring at their retreating backs, I toss an apologetic look at Jess.

He just shrugs and hauls up our bags. "The master has spoken."

Upon exiting the port, we discover two things.

The first is a shiny metal-grey Mercedes waiting to greet Elena. The second is that we are no longer an extension of Elena.

With an apology to Zeke and the promise of a phone call at an undetermined time generally surmising to 'later', she climbs gracefully into the back of the four-wheeled construction of luxury and disappears.

Zeke is appropriately nonplussed. Jess is appropriately smug.

"Come on," he says pointedly. Zeke flushes and throws him a furious look of resentment. But he follows us up the road nonetheless.

We hail a battered yellow cab, Jess in the front with the address, me and Zeke in the back with the silence.

He says nothing because he's sulking. I say nothing for fear of projecting vomit instead of words.

Sadly, I really don't get to see a whole lot of Scarlet City that first cab ride, because I'm too busy focusing on keeping down what's left of my lunch. And what I do see flashes past in a blur of red-roofed buildings and tropical plants projected through a smudged rear window.

Ah, well. I'll be back again tomorrow anyway.

The cab whisks us out of town and heads north-west along the coast. It's a nice drive; out my window is the endless expanse of glittering ocean. Out Zeke's are the colourful fences and tropical front gardens of waterfront houses.

It's only a fifteen minute drive before we're pulling up in front of a rickety, olive-green fence, overhung with palm tree leaves and flowering vines that have exploded into fierce colour; purples, yellows, reds. Pretty.

Jess consults the scrap of paper he scribbled the address on, then peers out the window. "This is it."

The taxi grumbles off up the road, leaving us stranded on the nature strip. Jess pockets the paper.

We're all silent for a long moment, the sound of roaring waves pounding the shore behind us.

I glance over my shoulder. Between the palms, blue water sparkles invitingly. I hadn't expected Jess' cousin's place to be so close to the beach – it's literally across the road.

I glance back the way we came. The asphalt road – single-laned – follows the coast in tight loops, the painted lines long worn away by the wind and water. The beach crawls right up to the edge of it, separated only by a feeble-looking, waist-height stone wall and a line of palm trees. The lush tropics creep up on the other side, sleepy houses peeking out timidly from its tangled embrace.

It all looks very… _untamed_. Which is probably why the vibes I'm getting are seriously mellow. It's like humanity made itself comfortable here, but didn't flatten everything in its way in the process. Like they tried to work _around_ nature, as opposed to attempting to dominate it.

I'm not sure how safe that makes living conditions, but it certainly is a conservative approach. Props to our forefathers.

"Now what?" Zeke's voice says shortly, uncomfortable. I turn back around, examining the fence instead. It's quite high; I can't see anything of the house beyond except for the top of the brown roof. Up close, the fence is kind of dilapidated – it's in dire need of a fresh coat of paint and perhaps a few nails (or dozen).

Wordlessly, Jess steps up and grabs the latch on the gate. He pauses suddenly. "Oh – just letting you guys know, my cousin's an… _interesting_ sort of guy. He's nice enough, but sometimes he's just… different."

Wait. What exactly does he mean by that?

"Awesome," Zeke says sarcastically. "You wait until we're already here to tell us your rello's a loon."

"He's not a _loon_," Jess protests, and pushes the squeaky gate open.

Instantly, something roars and slams itself unexpectedly against it, throwing Jess back and slamming it shut in our faces. Whatever's behind the fence continues to protest loudly, thrashing the gate violently with what sounds horribly like a whip.

"He has _guard _pokémon?" Zeke recovers enough to snap angrily, his temper triggered by the fright. My heart is slamming in my chest.

"Naw, she's not a guard pokémon," comes a lazy drawl over the pokémon cries. "Daisy, back, babe."

After a minute of nauseatingly babyish soothing, the pokémon is quieted, and the gate finally opens again. A guy – presumably Jess' cousin – peers out curiously.

My three initial thoughts are instant and simultaneous.

Firstly, he's younger than I'd thought; probably only a couple of years older than Jess. That puts him somewhere in his early to mid twenties.

Secondly, he looks _nothing_ like Jess. He's kind of short, and scrawny, with a skinny build of wiry muscles, and without a single trace of tan. His head is shaved, the stubble of what used to be hair greyish against his pale skin, and there's a fierce-looking gyarados inked along his arm in a tattoo. I can't decide whether it's grotesque or fascinating.

Thirdly, he's wearing only a pair of black pinstriped knee-length shorts, exposing his pale chest for the world to supposedly admire. There's a thin, dark trail of hair from his naval disappearing into his shorts. I tear my eyes away hastily, uncomfortable in his unabashed presence.

Perhaps watching me, he raises one eyebrow – it has a ring pierced through it – and tosses us a lazy smile. "You guys are late."

"Hello to you, too," Jess replies, a little sarcastic. "Guys, this is Shooter. Shooter – Zeke and Grace."

'Shooter' – it must be a nickname – waggles his eyebrows at me. "Dude, if you're bringing chicks along, you're welcome here any time."

Zeke bristles. "_Dude,_ put on a shirt."

"Welcome," Shooter says instead, pulling the gate wider and wandering back toward the house, "to the island of the free, my friend. Clothing is optional."

Zeke scowls darkly at nothing.

We trail along behind Shooter like meek little mareep. The front garden is messy and overgrown, making me think of jungles with vines that snag you round the ankles and pull you in to be consumed by gigantor, man-eating plants with teeth.

A concrete driveway with moss spilling from the cracks is occupied by a rusty mud-brown Jeep that doesn't look like it's been driven for years. Shooter's house sits low to the ground behind its protective veil of tropical plants, made of brown wood, with a shadowy front porch and windows with peeling shutters. A faded flag of some kind dangles lazily where it's been strung up; it's hanging unevenly. Shooter probably put it up like that and never fixed it.

Like the fence, the whole place is a little bit… sad-looking.

But of more immediate concern is the plethora of pokémon faces peering at us from every direction – in the trees, under the plants, behind the Jeep – and the aggressive-faced ivysaur trudging resolutely between us and Shooter.

Every few seconds it shoots untrusting glares at us over its (her, if I heard correctly) shoulder. I come to the quick conclusion it's extremely (over)protective of its trainer.

Gulp.

"Do all these pokémon belong to you?" I can't help but ask, bewildered, as I gaze curiously around at all the unexpected faces.

"Nope," Shooter replies over his shoulder. "Most of them were strays. They were homeless, but now they live here with me."

So they're squatters. I wonder idly if that term even applies to wild pokémon.

"They don't look like wild pokémon," Jess comments, sounding mildly impressed.

"Yeah," Shooter returns. "We're all good buddies." He stops by the porch steps and turns back to the garden. "Okay, little monsters. Come say hello to our new friends."

One by one, the pokémon crowd around behind him, all of them watching us with wary eyes.

"Alright," Shooter begins lazily, raising one pointer. "This is Harold–" raticate "–Daisy–" the malevolent ivysaur "–Stud–" spearow "–Ringo–" krabby "–Coco–" paras "–Happy–" mankey "–Shooter jnr.–" psyduck "–Maximus–" poliwag "–Bianca–" bellsprout "–and Mike."

'Mike' is a pokémon I've never seen before. It looks a bit like a tortoise, with orange limbs protruding from a hard-looking brown shell. But hey, apart from that one, I recognised them _all._ Zeke's super-insistent demands for battles haven't been a total waste of time, after all.

As I watch, the tortoise pokémon belches black smoke from its nostrils.

"What _is_ that?" I blurt, unable to help myself.

"Mike?" Shooter asks, surprised as he glances at the pokémon. "He's a _t__orkoal_, man."

Tor-_what_?

"They're native to Hoenn," Jess explains, touching my arm reassuringly as I flush, feeling stupid. "A popular fire-type pokémon with a high defense stat, usually found near Lavaridge Town. I think I read somewhere that training them can be a slow and difficult process, but highly rewarding."

Oh. Okay.

Cool.

I continue watching as Mike the torkoal stretches his long leathery neck to sniff at a flower dangling above his shell. He's actually kind of cute, in a dopey sort of way.

"You kids have pokémon too, right?" Shooter asks presently.

Beside me, Zeke stiffens indignantly at 'kids'.

"Of course we do," Jess replies shortly.

Shooter shrugs lazily. "Give 'em some air, already. Those barbaric pokéball things are so restricting – pokémon need space to live and breathe, too. How would you like to be trapped all day in one of those things?"

He's speaking like he knows from experience. I wisely don't ask.

Jess shoots me a glance, and with a half-shrug, complies, alongside Zeke. Within moments, Shepherd's shaking out his fluffy vanilla mane. He tenses immediately upon catching the scent of unfamiliar pokémon, hovering protectively near Jess' feet. Beside him, Dash stomps her hooves against the path and nudges at Jess' shoulder uncertainly, her flickering mane threatening to set the dangling corner of the flag alight.

Rex stands too close to the paras – Maximus? Or was that the raticate? – in his curiosity, clearly unperturbed by all the new faces. The paras sinks lower to the ground, curling its legs defensively underneath its reddish abdomen.

"Whoa," Shooter says sharply. "Intruding on the personal space, there, little water buddy. Give Coco–" Whoops, wrong on both accounts. My bad "–some breathing room or _you'll_ be breathing some serious Stun Spore."

"Rex!" Zeke snaps, and his pesky totodile snaps his jaws attentively. With a sharp head-jerk from Zeke, he scarpers away from Coco.

Meanwhile, Santos is hugging my ankles with rigid determination. I reach down to prise her off, but those little paws seemed to have turned to steel.

"Come on," I say, half-laughing, half-grunting with effort. "There's no need to be shy. These pokémon are your friends."

I hope.

But she refuses to let go, burying her little face in my legs. I give up, straightening and shrugging my shoulders apologetically at Shooter. "She's a little timid."

"That's cool," he replies. "Bring her inside if you want." He continues to watch me, and when Santos is tucked safely in my arms like a baby, finally says, "Don't you have any pokémon?"

Yeah. About that.

"She does…" Jess replies hesitantly.

I finish for him. "He's got a bit of an attitude problem, and he's not exactly the friendliest of pokémon."

Shooter waves one hand lazily. "The others will sort him out."

I exchange a doubtful look with Jess. "I think it's best for everyone if he just stays in his pokéball…"

"Don't be a snob, little girl," Shooter replies.

"I'm not!" I object.

"Just let him out," Zeke snaps impatiently. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could run away," I retort pointedly.

"There's a fence all round the property," Shooter replies, confident.

"He'll probably burn it down," I scowl, remembering the Applesaps' fence.

"You're freaking out over nothing," Shooter says. "The other pokémon will make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

I look to Jess for support. He just half-shrugs tiredly.

Well, okay. If Jess is convinced, I guess I can take a chance.

But I still have my doubts.

"Jess, could you get the box?" I ask, nodding in explanation at Santos occupying my arms. She's watching the proceedings silently, one paw touching my collarbone, kind of like an uncertain toddler reaching for its mother's leg for reassurance.

Cute.

Jess digs in my pack for the pokéball box, and when it appears, I realise with a guilty stab that it's been far too long since El Scorchio was out of his ball for more than just a meal.

Shooter's right – even if he _does _attempt to maul all the other pokémon to burn down the fence and make a getaway, El Scorchio needs to be free of his pokéball for a while. I feel like I've been keeping him prisoner. My conscience churns unhappily.

Jess releases El Scorchio, and in an explosion of white light, he materialises before us, stretching out his gloopy neck. Then he looks around impassively.

His enormous yellow eyes settle on me, and he glowers. "Maa."

"Hi, El Scorchio," I say nervously.

He snorts little embers from his nostrils and turns away.

Well. Good to see things haven't changed.

"You weren't kidding," Shooter says, impressed. "Leave him out here for a while. Let's get all your stuff inside."

With one backward glance that confirms El Scorchio is, indeed, ignoring all the other pokémon and making a beeline for the wooden fence, we follow Shooter inside, up across the creaking porch and in through the fly screen door. The front door behind it stands wide.

"Mi casa es su casa," Shooter says proudly, as we crowd into the first room, which is very obviously the lounge room.

I'm not too sure what exactly he's proud of; the tacky coffee-brown carpet is a mess of faded stains and pulls. The two sofas are mis-matched – one is navy and white striped and sags in the middle, the other is a pilling chocolate brown with lumpy-looking cushions.

A coffee table between them is chipped wood with a frosted green-glass top, which you can barely see beneath the mess of papers, wrappers, overflowing metal ashtrays and odd-bods – keys, pens, lighters, coins.

A single standing lamp stands in the corner beside a low, two-tiered bookcase in dark brown, stuffed with books and comics – not a single title of which I recognise. Again, the top of the bookcase is strewn with stuff_._

A flat-screen TV perches atop a cabinet in the front corner. One door has been left open, and CDs, DVDs and videos spill out onto the floor, amid tangles of unused cables.

"Great place," Zeke says, sarcasm dripping from his voice, but Shooter doesn't catch it.

"Thanks, man." He points to a set of double doors standing open against the back wall. "Kitchen's through there. Down that corridor–" He gestures to another archway off the right wall "–is the bathroom, laundry, my room and the spare room. You guys are welcome to make yourselves at home; two people can crash in the spare room, one can crash in the lounge room." He grins suddenly, sort of wolfish. "The striped couch folds out."

Zeke shoots me a glance that bores into the side of my head. I already know what it says without even turning to catch it.

_You've got to be kidding me._

"Coffee, anyone? I was about to boil the jug when you decided to finally arrive."

I politely decline. Jess reluctantly accepts – for want of not seeming rude, most likely – as does Zeke, probably because he hasn't had a caffeine hit since breakfast back at the Olivine pokémon centre.

I guess when you're desperate, anything is better than nothing.

Shooter disappears, humming contentedly to himself, leaving the rest of us to face the uncomfortable task of sorting out the sleeping arrangements.

The silence is thick and sort of tense. We face an unspoken conflict; Zeke doesn't want me and Jess to share a room, and Jess doesn't want me and Zeke to share a room. Nor do I particularly think Zeke and Jess should be sharing a room.

Someone's gotta give, though, or we'll be here all afternoon.

"You guys take the spare room," Jess says finally, sighing. "I'll stay in here."

"No," I reply, instantly feeling bad. "He's _your _cousin; you and Zeke take the spare room."

"Don't be stupid," Zeke snorts. "Everyone knows what happens when girls don't get their privacy, and stuff. We'll hear nothing but whinging all day if you're the one staying out here."

I narrow my eyes, but a smile quirks around Jess' lips.

Well. I suppose Zeke kind of does have a point.

"Fine," I sigh. "So, now what?"

We drag our packs into the spare room (by 'we' I mean Jess and Zeke, since Santos has decided to fall asleep against my chest) – a smallish square with yellowed curtains, two single beds with mismatched covers, and a single standing wardrobe in a garish shade of mint green.

"I'll leave you guys to it," Jess mutters, disappearing from the doorway.

I sink down on one of the beds; dust motes puff up into the air, twirling lazily in the fading sunlight filtering through the old lacy curtains. Santos snuffles quietly against my collarbone.

Zeke moves to the window, gazing out wordlessly at the tropical plants. His mouth is a bitter frown. "This place is a hole."

Well, someone had to say it.

I'm kind of glad it was him; it's fitting that the jerk makes the jerky remark. It means I don't have to feel as bad for being as judgemental as him.

I sigh, the ice broken. "It's only temporary, remember? Just until we've saved enough. Then we're out of here, I promise."

He shoots me a quick, silent _look_, like he's somehow blaming me for landing us here, then turns back to the window. I cuddle Santos for a few minutes, toying with her fuzzy ears. She snores peacefully against my skin.

"You really should re-name her, you know."

Zeke grunts noncommittally.

I gently shift Santos from my arms to the pillows, and cross to the mint wardrobe, pulling the narrow doors wide. One side of the small cupboard is hanging space. The other is occupied by six thin drawers.

"Do you want the drawers or the hangers?"

"Don't care," he returns, flatly.

Neither of us really knows what to say after that. We unpack as many of our things into the wardrobe as we can fit, the chattering pokémon voices outside in the garden the only sounds to break the uncomfortable silence.

XD

After an awkward evening of take-out and bad action movies containing fighting-type pokémon and lots of unnecessary explosions, followed by an equally awkward morning in which I have my first showdown with the bathroom, we pack a day-bag and call for a cab to take us back into Scarlet City to organise our jobs at the Whirl Cup.

Going to the toilet in Shooter's house might even rival going to the toilet in the bushes with a pidgey spying on me. The bathroom is dirty and messy, with mold all over the place. The mirror, shower, bathtub and toilet all need a seriously good scrub, and I don't even want to know how he survives without toothpaste or toilet paper.

I vow not to venture in there again until we've been to the store.

It's another beautiful day; bright blue and sunny. Shadows interspaced with patches of warm sunlight flash over my legs in the back of the cab. The ocean glitters invitingly.

And when we hit the outskirts of Scarlet City, I'm impressed all over again. I stare in wonder at the breathtaking architecture as we wind our way through the upward-sloping streets, climbing towards the cape. All the buildings are off-white and clean, with twisted iron window boxes spilling over with tropical flowers.

Strings of flags – white, emblazoned with a red insignia; a J-shaped swirl with lines like rays of sun – are tacked between the buildings, overhanging the streets. The same insignia appears on flyers, posters – even people's shirts.

"What's that symbol?" I ask the cabbie as we wait at a set of traffic lights. He glances at the flyer taped to the lights.

"That's the Whirl Cup mascot," he replies proudly.

"It's everywhere," I remark.

He chuckles. "Folks on the island take this tournament very seriously – it only happens every three years, so people really get into it. We're a patriotic bunch."

After a steep climb, we crest the hill and are rewarded with a spectacular view of the east coast. Twin capes stretch out towards the horizon like reaching fingers. The nearest is occupied solely by a huge, important-looking building. It looks like an observatorium, with a round tower entrance tacked to a square-shaped building with a curved red roof.

Behind the dense trees of the farthest cape peeks the round edge of a stone colosseum.

"Excuse me?" I ask again, apologetic for being a nuisance. The cabbie grunts in acknowledgement.

"That building over there – what's it for?"

He laughs loudly; a belly-jiggling guffaw. "That's the Scarlet City pokémon centre."

He laughs some more. I just stare at it in amazement.

_That's_ a pokémon centre? Well, damn. It's _massive._

"It's very impressive," I comment.

He seems to take it as a personal compliment and nods out the front window. "That stone structure you can see down on the cape is the Colosseum, where the Whirl Cup tournament is staged."

I confess, I _had_ arrived at a similar conclusion. But I keep that to myself.

In a few short minutes we're pulling into the parking lot of a building that doesn't match the Grecian architecture of the rest of the island. It's big and modern-looking, with the Whirl Cup insignia emblazoned above the door.

Jess pays the cabbie, and we clamber out.

Inside the cup head offices is air-conditioned with a cool-blue theme, decorated with miniature potted palm trees and water coolers. I have a sneaking suspicion the trees may have plastic leaves.

Fight the urge to investigate, Grace.

A neatly dressed, busy-looking receptionist greets us and guides us to the waiting room, where I flip through a glossy battle magazine (what? There was nothing else!) and try not to look too sceptical.

After a few minutes, we're joined by a moustached man in a white shirt with a faded coffee stain near the pocket, and a greying comb over. He introduces himself as Rod Evergreen, one of the Whirl Cup administrators.

I try not to glance at the stain as he shakes my hand. But of course, that's all my eyes want to look at.

"You two–" Rod begins, but Jess cuts him off with polite firmness.

"Three, sir."

Rod looks appropriately surprised. After all, Elena had organised for only Zeke and I to be given positions. I glance sharply at him, but he just subtly shakes his head. _Not now._

"There must have been a misunderstanding somewhere," Rod grunts, confused. His moustache curls upward in a jovial, crinkle-eyed smile that makes me think of chortling grandfathers. "No matter. We can always use an extra pair of hands. If you'll follow me."

He leads us into what must be his office. We sit in cushioned chairs before a wide desk cluttered with important-looking documents, decorated with only a few framed photographs and a model dragonair made of chrome. A wide window behind it offers a breathtaking view of the Colosseum and the sparkling ocean beyond.

"These," Rod explains, clearing his throat noisily and handing us each a thick-looking manila folder, "contain all the information you need. Names and numbers, brochures, schedules, maps, handbooks. It's not hard work. Just make sure you're punctual and presentable and you'll be fine."

He _harrumphs_ again. "Any questions?"

We respond in the negative.

"Now," he pushes out his expensive-looking leather office chair. "Wait here, and I'll find you some uniforms."

The doors whines and snaps slowly shut behind him.

The minute he's safely out of the room, Zeke rounds on Jess. "What the hell are you doing, Applesap?"

Jess shrugs. "If I can help out, why wouldn't I, since I've come all the way here?"

My heart pangs guiltily. "Jess…"

He smiles, the corners of his hazel eyes crinkling. "I want to help. All hands on deck, right? The more help you get the sooner you can get off the island."

"But you should be holidaying," I protest. "Not working. You don't have to help us earn money – we got ourselves into this mess. We can get ourselves out."

"Whatever," Zeke says, surprising me with his sudden change of mind. "At least he has a point. We'll save money faster if he helps."

"Zeke!" I hiss angrily. "This is inappropriate–"

The door abruptly opens behind us, cutting me off – and our conversation short. I cast a scowl at Jess, letting him know wordlessly that the issue has _not_ been dropped, and we turn our attention back to Rod, who's reappeared with a stack of folded material.

"Here," he says to me, grunting as he holds up the top piece. It falls out, unfolding into a red polo shirt with the cup insignia sewn onto the breast. "That should fit. If it doesn't, we can only go bigger – that's the smallest."

He tosses me the shirt and a pair of matching red-and-white shorts. I ball them in my lap. They smell of newness.

"Make sure they're washed before every shift," Rod instructs. "Or you'll be sent home for the day. Got it?"

Crystal clear. We'll deal with the operation of the washing machine when the time comes.

"So," he says, with an air of finality. "Give those documents a read, fill in all the necessary forms, and drop them back to Stacey at reception before eleven o'clock today. Your first shift will begin at twelve. Stacey will tell you everything else you need to know."

And that's it. We're shown from his office, and just like that, I have my very first job. Hooray.

We regroup at the blue couches.

"Right," Jess says, flicking through the documents in his folder. I'm not even brave enough to open mine yet. "It looks like they'll pay straight into your account, so I think we need to head to a bank ASAP."

"Why?" Zeke demands, skolling a plastic cup of water from the cooler.

Jess gives him a flat look. "So we can open a savings account for Grace. That's most likely the easiest and best way to do it."

What the heck is a savings account? Somehow, I don't think asking will be doing myself any favours.

"I'll explain in the cab," Jess says, seeing my confusion. "We don't have a lot of time before we have to be back here."

We wait ten minutes for a taxi, and set off downtown.

"Is there a Proud Persian branch in Scarlet City?" Jess asks, and the cabbie affirms. Our destination set, Jess turns his attention to attempting to explain the purpose and functionality of a savings account.

It's like he's speaking a foreign language. It all goes over my head. Beside me, Zeke is staring purposefully out the window at the streets, but every so often he frowns, blinking furiously – his 'thinking' expression – so I know he's actually listening. Apparently he doesn't understand either.

That's a relief. I don't feel quite as stupid, then.

By the time we pull up outside the bank, I sort of get it. I think. Oh well. It's not like it actually matters. As long as Jess knows what's going on, we're sweet, as far as I'm concerned.

We talk to the teller through a glass window. I lean my elbows on the counter, listening to her long nails tapping rapidly against the keyboard. She and Jess engage in a conversation I don't understand, and fifteen minutes later, we're done.

"Seriously?" I whisper doubtfully, as we head for the exit. "It's that easy?"

"It's that easy," Jess confirms, his lips curling in a smile. He passes me a folded piece of paper. "Hold tightly onto this. Don't lose it." He reaches for my wrist, turning it over to examine my purple gel watch. "We've got time for a drink before we head back, if you want. Zeke!" Ahead, Zeke stiffens and turns, his hands shoved in his pockets. Jess raises one eyebrow. "Coffee?"

As if he could resist.

Across the road is an inexpensive café with round metal tables and plastic chairs. We crowd around a corner table with our folders and a pen Jess borrowed from the register.

"Right," he says, all business. "Grace, still got that piece of paper?"

I nod, sucking on my vanilla milkshake, and offer it up.

I watch him fill out his form, referring to the information on the paper the teller gave us and muttering things like 'BSB number', 'TFN' and 'account number' every few seconds under his breath. When he's done with his, he does mine. Then Zeke's.

He explains what he's doing as he goes, but it's all Swahili to me. What I do manage to get from everything he's told me so far, though, is that all our pay is going to be going into one account – the one he's just opened, which is under my name.

I guess that's all I really need to know, when it comes down to it.

We finish our drinks, hail yet another cab, and make our way back to the cup head offices.

"Everything looks right," Stacey the receptionist says, skimming over our filled-out forms. She offers us a friendly smile over the desk. "We'll sort the rest out for you. Just go and get changed – there are male and female toilets just down this corridor to your left. Then come back here."

The toilets are small, white and clean, and – thankfully – unoccupied, so I can change in peace. The polo shirt fits, if perhaps a bit loose.

But hey, that happens when you fail to grow breasts.

I pull on the shorts – they're loose, too, about mid-thigh length – and examine my reflection. After careful thought, I decide I closely resemble a professional tennis player. I swing my invisible tennis racquet a few times in the mirror for good measure.

Yep. Definitely a tennis pro.

Jess and Zeke are waiting at reception. Both look around when my footsteps approach.

Jess' eyes light up; he grins. "You look like a ball boy."

Face. Plant.

I prop my hands on my hips, indignant. "Ball _girl_."

Zeke snorts. "Boy. Girls have boobs."

I whack his arm angrily. He snickers. Jess reddens, hastily looking away.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Stacey the receptionist interrupts, reappearing from somewhere. We fall silent, all pink-cheeked for various reasons. "Your paperwork has been processed successfully. You'll get your pay summary at the end of the day. So all that's left now is to point you in the right direction."

She beams pleasantly.

Man. Is being so cheerful part of her job description? She can't seriously be that joyful about sitting behind a desk answering annoying phone calls and directing new people in the right direction all day. I personally would find that a corporate version of hell.

"So," Stacey the receptionist says, producing a photocopy of the map we've all got stashed in our manila folders and tapping it with her pen. "We're here, at head offices. You don't need to worry about Stadiums A and B; that's where rounds one and two of the preliminaries were staged. The finals start this afternoon in the Colosseum, which is here." She taps the map again. "So walk straight past these stadiums and through the ruins, and you're there."

She withdraws the map with a flourish of paper. "Now, your supervisor's name is Jordan, and he'll be assembling everyone for a briefing in about fifteen minutes in front of Gate Four. If you have any questions, ask him, but he'll go through everything thoroughly, so you should be fine."

She flashes us another impossibly merry smile. I attempt to mimic it; my cheeks hurt. I give up.

Stadiums A and B are big – but they've got nothing on the Colosseum. Constructed out of sandy stone that looks about a billion years old, it's easily the most impressive building I've ever laid eyes on. Imposing stone archways form the ground floor's exterior wall; we walk under one and find ourselves at Gate Two.

"When the Whirl Cup isn't being held," Jess informs me, his voice echoing loudly as we head for Gate Four, "this stadium is submerged in the ocean."

"The whole thing?" I ask, stunned. Zeke makes a disbelieving noise, full of scorn.

"It's because of the way the coast is structured around the ocean," Jess explains, studiously ignoring Zeke's derision. "They open a floodgate and the water flows back into the sea, emptying the arena. Then when the tournament's over, they close it again, and it fills back up in the high tide. I've heard it's truly magnificent to watch the stadium rise out of the water."

I shudder. It's pretty creepy to think that, while everyone wanders happily round the island, there's a full-on ancient-Greek stadium beneath the ocean. If no-one told you, you wouldn't even know. Imagine stumbling across it unexpectedly.

Freeeaky!

"Wait," I say, with a sudden thought. "Does that mean the stadium is underwater _every night_?"

Jess shrugs. "I guess. That's probably part of why the tournament doesn't start until late morning; they have to wait for the tide to go back out."

Oh, _man._ I wouldn't want to be the guys that have to clean away all the seaweed every morning.

"It's pretty amazing how it doesn't get ruined," I comment, staring up at the solid stone ceiling. It doesn't look like it was underwater only twelve hours ago.

"Unless it gets torn down," Jess agrees, "this stadium'll probably be here for a very long time."

"How observant of you," Zeke says dryly. What's his problem? There's no need for him to ruin this perfectly good day.

"Hey, Zeke," I say loudly, pissed off by his attitude. "Where's Elena today?"

He shuts up and scowls at the wall.

Jerk.

"Gate Four," Jess announces happily. "And that must be our group."

A small gathering of red-and-white clad people is huddled around a tall, brown-skinned guy with a clipboard and sporty-looking shades. A long-eared azumarill stands at his side, it's lightweight, orb-like tail bobbing in the breeze.

"Hey guys," the clip-board-wielding guy greets us. "Come on over."

We comply, joining the back of the crowd.

"We're just introducing ourselves," sporty-shades continues cheerfully, flashing a friendly white smile. It's almost too-bright against his summer tan. "I'm Jordan." His nut-brown hair is short and thick, spiked up messily. His arms and legs look well-toned beneath his comfortably-fitted polo shirt and loose sweats, his shoulders broad. He's probably in his late twenties.

I shift uncomfortably where I'm standing, my uniform suddenly feeling much more like a sack hanging off my body. Jordan's well-toned physique makes me feel like a colourless, limp noodle in comparison.

"So," he continues, examining his clipboard. "What are your names?"

"Jess," Jess replies, "Grace, and Zeke."

"Excellent," Jordan says happily, marking his clipboard. "Everyone's here, then. So, let's get started."

He gives us a brief tour of the Colosseum, detailing the places that are most important to us – the store room, the Gate Four kiosk, the toilets, the emergency exits. The rest is pretty self-explanatory, he says. Besides, our maps supposedly have all the answers.

"This is where you'll meet every morning before your shift starts," Jordan explains, at the store room. "We keep the serving trays in here, and you'll have to sign the sheet on the wall when you grab one, then sign it back in at the end of the day."

We all take a tray, looping the straps over our shoulders. I mimic how the girl before me filled out the sign out/in sheet and hand the pen to the kid behind me.

"Once you've got your tray, head on down to the kiosk," he continues, leading the way. "Come in through this side door, straight into the cool room. Through _that _door is the larder. This list… _here_–" He reaches for a crumpled piece of paper pinned to a much-used corkboard adorned with post-it notes and business cards "–will tell you what to stock your tray with. It's all in here anyway.

"The prices of all the food and drink are taped to the inside of the tray, so you don't need to worry about that. Just make sure you don't forget to grab one of _these_–" He snatches up a navy bum-bag, (oh, man; coolness to the max), and holds it up with a lopsided grin "–before you start. Tacky, I know, but part of the job description, unfortunately, so you'll just have to live with it."

He drops it back in the cardboard box by the door. We all take one. I refuse to glance at Jess or Zeke; I already feel stupid enough with it dangling from my fingers.

"I think that's it. I've covered pretty much everything. Oh – report to me before you head up into the stadium; I'll sign you in and give you change for your packs. Any questions before I assign you to your stands?"

There are none. I glance among the faces of the others. Most of them are young, like us, and look like they have about as much of a clue what's going on right now as me.

That's a relief. Because I've got absolutely no idea.

Jordan reads out where we'll all be working for the day. It's assigned alphabetically, so Jess is in A, B and C, and I'm in D, E, and F with a bespectacled girl named Trish Beech. Zeke's in J, K and L.

By the time our tour is done, the Colosseum is thrumming with activity. Spectators have started arriving, filling up the stadium with the chattering buzz of hundreds of excited voices.

The enthusiasm is infectious, I'll admit. I may not be the world's biggest fan of pokémon battles, and I may not understand how two creatures thrashing each other can be considered sport, but I _can_ appreciate how people can find this kind of atmosphere totally enthralling. I'm pretty much _dying_ to go up and have a look at the arena.

But first we have to stock up our trays.

Then grab change from Jordan.

And a red visor.

_Then_ we can go up into the stadium.

And it truly is a magnificent sight to behold. My breath catches in my chest as I look out over the round-shaped water battlefield.

Four intricately-carved marble pillars rise from the depths of the pool, crumbled and broken at the tops from years of weathering. Stone platforms – one for each competitor, and several like giant stepping stones on the surface – make the terrain more complex for battling. The rows of seating sweep away from the battlefield in a great sloping climb.

Jess gives a low, impressed whistle. I turn my head and catch his eye; we exchange an excited grin before the group parts ways.

As I seek out blocks D through F, the magnified voice of the MC booms a welcome out over the Colosseum that is answered by a fierce roar from the crowd, the likes of which I've never heard before. It's a wholesome, consuming sound, striking me right to the core. I imagine it'd be pretty darn hard not to get swept up in the exhilaration of this place.

A little thrill sizzles through my chest – nerves and excitement, mixed with something like anticipation – as the MC announces the beginning of the opening ceremony.

I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and turn to face the cheering crowd.

The tournament is about to begin.


	18. Chapter Two!

**A/N:** Apologies to anyone who bothered to do as much in-depth research about the Whirl Cup as I did (i.e. TONS); there are a few inconsistencies with the anime, but I altered (tweaked) things here and there to work within this storyline. Like having the opening ceremony after the preliminaries. It makes more sense anyway, I think.

Also, FF net won't let me have chapters with the same name (silly!), so I'm going to have to think of something new for each arc. Bothersome, but c'est la vie, I'm afraid.

* * *

**~ Two ~**

**On Daily Labours and Striking Success**

* * *

"Can I get a soda?"

Floating on the surface of the water below are six carved canoes, like ancient Viking boats. Groups of contest entrants stand upon them, staring back at the eager crowd with grave expressions – like valiant heroes facing the people they're about to go into battle for. They must be feeling a whole heap of pressure right now.

"Excuse me?" the man says, louder.

I want to say _Shh, I'm watching_ but that's kind of unorthodox considering it's, you know, kind of my _job_ to serve him. Fighting a scowl, I turn away from the arena.

"Yes?" Then, figuring that sounds a bit rude, "Sorry. What can I get you?"

The man flashes an annoyed look. "A soda."

I grab one from the cooler, quick as I can, so I can go back to watching. "Four hundred P."

P; commonly abbreviated from poké. The man's face scrunches up in irritated disbelief. "Seriously?"

He stares at me like he expects me to do something about it. I blink back.

Well, _I _didn't set the prices.

Muttering angrily to himself, the man shoves some money at me. Snatching the can of soda, he snaps, "Damn rip-off" and stalks off. Whatever. Not my problem.

I drop the cash in my super-fashionable bum-bag and return my attention to the stadium, where the crowd is roaring its appreciation for a robed woman who stands tall upon a balcony overlooking the arena, her arm curled around a long, orb-tipped golden staff.

She's beautiful, even from afar, with a slender frame wrapped in a flowing Grecian robe – ocean-blue over lilac silk, with an antique brooch at the shoulder – and tresses of rich purple that fall to her hips. Jewellery winks at her ears and throat. The throne behind her resembles a giant, pearly fan-shaped shell. Flanking her on both sides are two maidens in white, and behind _them_ is a row of seats occupied by important-looking people. I recognise a famous celebrity among them, and a few seats down, dressed in stylish blue for the occasion, Elena.

I wonder if Zeke has seen her yet.

"And now–" the MC's voice is an echoing boom "–please welcome again our Sea Priestess, Maya, to open the finals!"

Another earth-trembling roar explodes from the crowd. In a few sweeping steps, the robed beauty approaches the balcony's stone railing, resting her fingers on it.

"Welcome friends – old and new alike – to the finals of the forty-second triennial Whirl Cup competition!" She smiles. "It's my honour to welcome among us today several highly esteemed guests – Cup CEO Frank Forsythia, _Fiery Skies_ star Darius Viburnum, and Olivine City Miss Bathing Beauty, Elena Potentilla."

More crazed cheering from the crowd.

"As the legend goes," Maya continues, her face bright and serene, "in ancient times the ocean would select a hero and grant him or her the powers of the Sapphire Sea Spirit, which gave them the gift of communication with water-type pokémon. Today, we honour this tradition by hosting the Whirl Cup tournament, to select a new hero.

"Trainers, you've come from far and wide to enter this tournament and have already proven yourselves worthy of this acclaimed title by winning your way through the preliminary rounds. It is time for you to show the world that _you_ are, rightfully, the Whirl Islands' greatest water trainer. Have trust in yourselves, and in your pokémon."

Maya gestures gracefully with her free arm, sweeping it benevolently over the battlefield. "It is now my absolute pleasure to declare the finals of the Whirl Cup competition officially underway! Let the battle for the new water pokémon Alpha Omega continue, and may the best trainer win!"

To this, a deafening, universal roar fills the Colosseum. Below, the waters of the battlefield ripple as the nervous-looking trainers stare up at the crowd from their little Viking canoes.

"Hey, kid," someone calls from behind, and I reluctantly turn away to do my job.

As I hand the customer his candy, I can't help but acknowledge (somewhere in the deepest depths of my heart of hearts, where my pride can't get in the way) that this is going to be an amazing tournament to watch. Secretly, I'm glad I'm here to be a part of it.

XD

"You know the priestess has to wait until exactly the right moment to raise the Sapphire Sea Spirit in the opening ceremony?" Jess says as we sit around a small plastic table near the kiosk. We're between battles, taking a quick break before the next one begins.

I slurp my orange-flavoured soda noisily through my straw and raise my eyebrows. "Really? I wish we'd been here to see it."

He nods, thumbing the already-bent corners of his Cup guidebook. "She can only raise it when the sun is at its highest point in the sky. That's another reason the opening ceremony is held in the middle of the day."

Good old Jess. Ever the informed one.

Beside me, Zeke lounges back in his unsteady-looking chair and belches loudly.

I throw him a dirty look. "Delightful."

"I thought so," he says carelessly, watching people coming down the stone steps from the stadium.

I say slyly, "Looking for Elena?"

His expression darkens. Scowling at me from the corner of his eye, he retorts, "Problem if I am?"

I roll my eyes. "Why would there be?" My tone is the classic _duh_. But I can't stop the little voice in the back of my brain that kind of suggests otherwise. I can't explain why his growing interest in her bothers me, but it does. Not that I'd admit that to anyone – not even Jess.

Maybe I'm supposed to be edgy about girls that hang off him. Sisters (albeit fake ones) are allowed to (supposed to?) be overprotective, right? Even if the brother is older… ?

Ugh. This is just getting complicated.

"I'd say she's too busy to come down here, anyway," Jess comments thoughtfully, tapping his fingers habitually against the cover of the guidebook. Zeke just shrugs indifferently.

The first battle of round one was, incidentally, a total wipe out.

As the MC explained before the match (and Jess patiently explained again to me afterward), the rules of the first round are pretty simple: each trainer selects two water-type pokémon and battles them one-on-one. The first trainer to defeat both of the other's pokémon wins.

Well, the winning trainer hadn't even needed to call out his second pokémon. The other guy had barely left a scratch on his fierce-looking cloyster.

I confess, I did turn away for the nastiest of the brawls – I couldn't help it; besides, the tremors rocking the stadium with each vicious attack gave enough of a clue as to what was going on. And I got to see the end, so I know who won and lost. Seems like I got the most important bits out of the battle. Fine with me.

"Well," Jess says with a sigh, closing the guidebook. "We'd better get back up there. The second battle's about to begin."

I slurp up the last of my soda, dropping it in the trash as we head back up the stairs. At the last moment someone calls, "Zeke!" and it echoes behind us.

We all turn back to look. Elena is hurrying up the corridor from Gate Five, her gorgeous blue dress billowing out around her. When Zeke spots her, she beams, and my stomach curdles.

Zeke tosses me an insufferably superior smirk.

I roll my eyes and tug on Jess' sleeve. "Let's go."

We leave them to it and head back up into the stadium, my good mood notably soured.

XD

It's a _long_ day. We watch – no, _work_ – battle after battle under the blistering heat. After three hours in the baking sun, I understand why Jordan made us wear those geeky hats. After five, I'm grateful for them.

When the last battle of the day is finally over, my feet are aching, my legs are tired, and I'm so sweaty my shirt is sticking to my back. Gross.

Amazingly, I can hike for an entire day with a pack twice my weight and not complain, but five hours of standing in the sun? Totally unbearable. Figure out how that works.

I clomp exhaustedly down the steps, nearly tripping and landing on Jess, who's waiting dutifully at the bottom. He's already returned his tray and bum-bag, and patiently accompanies me while I do the same. There's no sign of Zeke yet.

We meet up with the rest of the group, and are praised and dismissed by Jordan, who hands out envelopes emblazoned with our hastily-scrawled names. Then the group splits and drifts off in different directions, the day done.

The kiosk is locked up and empty, but Jess and I drop into chairs at one of the tables to wait for Zeke to appear. I remove my hat with a groan – it's left indents in my forehead – and run my fingers through my sticky hair.

"My hair is _disgusting_."

"Maybe tie it up tomorrow," Jess suggests. I nod weakly, horrified by the intimidating thought of this happening all over again.

Jordan, in the process of locking up the store room, catches sight of us and frowns in confusion. "You guys alright to get home?"

"Yeah," Jess replies. Their voices bounce off the walls. "We're just waiting for our friend."

'Friend' is a bit of a stretch, if you ask me.

"Zack?" Jordan asks.

"It's Zeke," I correct without thinking.

Jordan drops the keys round his neck. "But he's already gone."

Icy shock cascades like a waterfall through me. "_What_?"

Jordan readjusts his cap. "Yeah, he signed his stuff out right after the battle finished." He shrugs a little. "Sorry guys – maybe give him a call. There are public phones near Gate One."

"Thanks," Jess says, watching me prepare to blow my top. Good deed done, Jordan walk-jogs off.

I all but explode. "_Gone_? Gone _where_? How _dare _he! I'm going to kill him!"

Jess pushes his chair back; the plastic scrapes loudly against the stone. "He must have left with Elena. They've probably gone off somewhere together."

I can't get my head around Zeke's complete and utter disregard for us. I mean, didn't he stop to think that _maybe _leaving without telling either of us was a little bit _rude_?

Come on. I know he's bad, but I didn't think he was _this _bad. I'm so enraged I can't even speak.

"C'mon," Jess says gently, offering me his hand and hauling me to my feet. "Let's go home."

XD

Periwinkle Beach is a never-ending strip of grainy brown-sugar sand, disappearing like a stroke into the horizon. Capes and cliffs create a jagged shoreline at either end, but the bay in between is like a secluded piece of serene, crescent-moon-shaped heaven.

And to think, it's right across the street. Sweeeet.

I jog along the shoreline with Shep at my feet, enjoying the rippling water rushing round my ankles and the wet sand squeezing between my toes. Salty wind blasts my hair into my face; I wrestle it back.

Jess calls something from behind. I stop and turn, not catching it over the sounds of the ocean. Shep bounds in energetic circles around me, waiting for me to take off again. Jess lopes up behind us, all arms and legs and bronzed skin. My breath comes in huge huffs as I wait; now that I've stopped running, my heart is trying to catch up again.

"Grrrowl!" Shep calls eagerly.

Catching us up, Jess throws a languid arm down to ruffle his chest. He straightens and grins at me. "You want to ride Dash?"

I stiffen, blanching. "Now?"

He nods. "Here. Along the beach."

"No, thanks." I'd rather swim in sharpedo-infested waters.

Okay, not really. But still. No, thanks.

Jess dips into his pocket and flings Dash's pokéball. Within seconds, she's shaking out her flaming mane and tail. With a joyful whinny, she trots in a wide circle, looping back to nuzzle Jess' neck and shoulders.

Laughing, he gives her neck a good rub and offers me a wide, encouraging smile. "Come on. She's dying for a ride."

"You take her," I reply uneasily. "I'll look after Shep."

"You mean Shep'll look after _you_," Jess corrects with a wink, swinging himself up easily to sit bare-back. "I'll be back. You've got ten minutes to talk yourself into it. No buts."

The sound of Dash's hooves against the sand echoes on the wind as they disappear up the shore. I watch them grow smaller and smaller, then turn, hands on hips, to Shep, who's playing with the tide – letting it crawl up the sand all the way to his paws, then darting back at the last second with a victorious bark, and chasing it back down to the waves.

"Your trainer is a troublemaker," I say, and he trots over.

"Grrrowl!" He prances hopefully around my feet, eager for another run. And just when my heart had finally calmed down. Oh well.

With a dramatic sigh, I say, "_Fine_. But only because I like you."

I pick up my jog again. Shep falls easily into a loping bound beside me. And that's how Jess finds us when he comes back from his ride several minutes later. Slowing to a trot, he eases Dash to a halt and slides lightly off her snowy back.

"Time's up," he says, sounding elated – the exhilaration of the ride must have lifted his spirits super high – and grabs my hand. "Your turn."

"Jess, I really don't–"

"What?" he interrupts with one raised eyebrow. "Think you're good at it?"

"Well, I _know _that."

"How?" he demands. "Have you ever ridden a horse pokémon?"

"No, but–"

"The 'no' suffices," he says, tugging me over to where Dash is pawing the sand impatiently, tossing her fiery mane in the wind. "How can you know whether you're good at it or not if you've never even tried?"

He has a point, but that's not the real problem. As he pulls me close to Dash, heat from her perpetually scorching body washes over my face. My pulse – a thrumming echo of my nerves – flutters anxiously under my skin. Fear prickles at the back of my neck; the scar on my cheek sears, an unpleasant reminder of incidents past.

"Jess–" My voice is strangled.

"Relax," he soothes, turning his gentle hazel eyes to catch mine. "You're psyching yourself out."

Damn right I am – and with good reason! I dig my heels into the sand. With a restrained laugh, Jess loops his arm around my waist and lifts me effortlessly, carrying me instead.

"Jess–!" Oh, god, that pathetic little squeak is _not _my voice. It's not! But of course, it is. How embarrassing. But I've got more important things to fret over.

Panic is cluttering my brain, pushing every other thought to the back of my mind. All I can think is, _Not good, not good, not good. May day – get away! FIRE POKÉMON! GET BACK! HOT. BURNING. PAIN. DEATH. RUN AWAY!_

I'm right next to Dash now, cringing fiercely – pushing back against Jess' arms. Somehow I go from Not Okay With This to Totally Freaking Out in record-breaking time.

"Grace!" Jess says, loudly, and I stop struggling. His eyebrows are drawn down over his eyes. "What are you so afraid of?"

Something drips from my nose and chin, and dribbles onto my bottom lip. I taste salt.

Tears. Fantastic.

Jess quietly lets go of me; I reach up self-consciously and wipe pathetically at my face. I know he's waiting, watching me quietly until I give him an answer. Sniffing, I mumble, "Nothing."

A more pathetic attempt at a lie has never been made.

Jess tilts his head to the side, contemplating me. Without a word, he reaches up and brushes my cheek with his thumb. He sighs quietly. "Dash won't hurt you."

I stare down at the sand. My voice is a timid mumble. "All fire pokémon hurt me." Then I quickly amend, "Except Shep."

"That's not true. You've only really dealt with El Scorchio. That's not really giving fire pokémon a fair go." Jess gently pushes my hair back from my face, thumbing over my scar, feather-soft. His eyes are fixed somewhere around my collarbone. He seems lost in thought.

Eventually he flicks his gaze back up to mine. "You trust me, right?"

I nod indignantly. He laughs lightly. "Good. Glad we've established that." He sobers. "Dash trusts you, Grace – like you trust me. I promise you, she _won't_ hurt you."

I'm unconvinced. And I'm not taking the risk. Seeing this, Jess frowns in frustration. "Okay – look. Watch."

He reaches out his fingers and touches them to Dash's nose. I've seen it before, so it's not exactly much of an argument. And what's he trying to prove, anyway? Just because Dash doesn't burn him doesn't mean she won't burn me.

She might not even mean to. But it's still another burn. And it's still going to hurt – just as much.

"Give me your hand."

Hells to the no. I stuff them both in my pockets pointedly.

"Grace, come on," Jess says, more firmly. "How are you ever going to progress with Scorch if you stay this afraid of all fire-type pokémon?"

A perfectly valid point, but I don't care right now. Friendly confers between me and El Scorchio are looking less and less promising by the day. Giving up on him is looking mighty plausible right now, even if it does leave my conscience with a bitter aftertaste.

"Grace," Jess repeats, frowning. "Just try. For me." He looks into my eyes, earnest. "Please?"

Damn it! Why didn't I dodge his gaze? There's no way I can say no to that face.

Dragging in a shuddery breath, I reluctantly produce one hand, already weighted with regret. This is going to hurt like nobody's business. Worst idea ever.

Jess carefully takes my fingers, rubbing the back of them comfortingly with his thumb. My traitorous heart responds with a happy thrum.

"I know you're scared," he says. "But please try to trust me on this."

Ugh. How can I not? When has he ever let me down?

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as he lifts my hand. Warmth washes over my fingertips, growing more intense. Dash whinnies quietly; the breath from her nostrils brushes my skin. Gah – she's so close! My heartbeat kicks up. The scar along my cheek prickles again; another quick flash of fire.

I wait for the exploding heat, white-hot, to blister my fingers; wait for the excruciation to rip a scream from my lips–

And my fingertips touch coarse, warm skin, bristly with short hairs. No burning.

I open my eyes. Dash stares back, unthreatening. She nickers, looking at me as if to say, 'You're scared of _me_?'

My breath gushes out in surprise. Jess slowly lets go of my hand, but I leave it against her nose, too stunned to react. My heart thuds heavily in my chest. I swallow, wetting my dry lips.

"It's okay…" Funny; it sounds like I'm trying to soothe Dash. But I'm really talking to myself. I think.

Apparently Jess figures I'm not about to flip out, and risks speaking. "See? Told you it'd be fine."

Amazed, I reach up to touch Dash's cheek with my free hand. She presses her nose into my fingers. Her breath feels more like a caress now that I'm not as terrified of her. A smile fights with my lips; it's hard not to be giddily elevated when you conquer a fear.

Before long it splits into a wide grin, and I laugh with relief. Jess beams, rubbing Dash's neck happily.

Toying with the bridge of her sturdy nose, I glance shyly at him. "Thanks."

I do kind of owe him one. Massively.

His smile is gentler now, filled with understanding. We share a brief, significant moment – after all, this is a freaking huge thing for me to overcome – smiling goofily at each other.

"So," Jess says. "How about that ride?"

I laugh nervously. "Maybe another time."

No way am I ready for that yet. But he's just joking; his eyes twinkle with mischief.

Dropping his hand from Dash's side, Jess snags my fingers and pulls me into a warm hug. I press myself against his side, clogging up my senses with the smell of him as we start making our way back along the sand.

I feel his cheek brush the top of my head, and he says into my hair, "I'm proud of you, Grace."

XD

No-one bought groceries, and the pantry is empty, so it's take-out again for dinner. Since it's such a warm night, we sit out on the front porch, with the summery sunset and the balmy breeze for company.

I dig in my carton of sweet and sour pork, watching Daisy the malevolent ivysaur sneaking vine-fuls of pokémon food from the others' dishes whenever they look away. Sneaky.

It's actually pretty interesting how quickly our pokémon have assimilated. Already they're getting along reasonably well with Shooter's strays. I'd thought Daisy and Shep would butt heads, since they're both quite dominant personalities, but they seem to have decided to work together, taking shifts strolling along the fence and scaring passers-by for kicks.

Dash is easygoing and unperturbed by the others; she just calmly gets out of the way whenever there's a fuss. Even Santos – who I'd thought was so shy she'd never go anywhere near any of them – has buddied up with Coco the timid paras. They sit together under the baby ferns, playing with flowers and chattering away about god knows what.

Only El Scorchio remains solitary. But that's unsurprising, if not a little disappointing. At least he hasn't succeeded in burning down the fence yet. Right now, he's nibbling at his dinner, keeping a watchful eye on everybody and snorting the occasional tongue of flame from his nostrils.

The only one I've ever seen within a ten-metre radius of El Scorchio is Mike the torkoal, and even then all it takes is a warning plume of flame and the fire-tortoise is on his dopey yet merry way.

Speaking of Mike… I shift my gaze from the fire slug and locate him near the Jeep. As I watch, he noses around in his meal, but something strikes me as odd. It looks like he's eating rocks. What the…?

"Shooter?" I say, swallowing my mouthful and setting aside the carton of Chinese. "What's Mike eating?"

"Hmm?" Shooter tosses a lazy glance at the torkoal. "Charcoal."

_Charcoal_?

"Seriously?" I ask, surprised. "Why?"

Shooter gives me an incredulous look. "He's a fire-type pokémon. What else do you feed them?"

Oh, for real? You mean all this time I've been feeding El Scorchio the _wrong food_?

"Why do you feed a fire pokémon charcoal?" I ask. I'm thinking this is something really, annoyingly important.

"Charcoal is good for them," Shooter replies lazily. "I dunno why exactly. Keeps their fire-power strong and their blood flowing, or something."

I'm suddenly not feeling too crash-hot. My brain is racing to conclusions all over the joint, all sorts of new thoughts that are flooding my poor cranium all at once, so it feels like it's going to explode.

What if that's the reason El Scorchio hates me so much? What if the food I've been giving him has been making him sick? I know the Snowtop Mountain Nurse Joy (and later the Olivine City one, too) assured me his body temperature was healthy at his check up, but how could she have known whether he was feeling off or not? Just because he'd _seemed_ fine doesn't necessarily mean he _was _fine. He might have had early-onset internal problems because of the wrong diet!

Grace, you are a _bad_ trainer. Slap on the wrist – a hard one.

I can't resist shooting Jess an accusatory glance. This seems like the kind of thing he's supposed to know. I mean, he always knows everything else.

"To be honest," Jess says apologetically, instantly understanding my expression, "I'm not usually the one in charge of feeding the pokémon on the farm; we've got farm hands that do all that. I didn't know about charcoal. Well, I know it boosts the strength of fire-type attacks, but I didn't know it should be a part of a fire pokémon's regular diet. I thought it was more like a treat."

He throws a worried glance at Shep, but he doesn't look sick in the slightest. Quite the contrary, actually. He seems to be planning a sneak attack to hijack the last of Harold the raticate's dinner.

Shooter just shrugs. "I just give it to Mike all the time. Can't hurt."

I see his logic. Better too much charcoal than none at all, from the sounds of it.

"Do you have some spare?" I ask hopefully. "I'd like to try giving some to El Scorchio."

"Sure," Shooter replies. "Got tons of the stuff. There's bags of it in the shed behind the house."

'Behind the house' is a frightening sort of place. It's all overgrown, like a thick, forbidding jungle, and intimidating, like it's waiting patiently for prey to kidnap with its ensnaring vines. The back garden may be relatively small, but clearly size doesn't matter. At least the shed is close to the house.

I follow the nearly-overgrown stone path toward it, and am startled half to death when Ringo the krabby pops out from nowhere and snaps playfully at my ankles.

"Ringo!" I gasp, heart thumping. "God! Don't _startle_– badkrabby!"

He simply slices his pincers at me, makes an odd gargling noise at the back of his throat, and spits a mouthful of froth at me before side-scuttling away. Weirdo.

I manage to wrench the shed door open – it screams on rusty hinges – and peer hesitantly inside the gloom. It's not a big shed – actually, it's pretty tiny – but it's cluttered with hastily-stacked stuff. Shooter obviously just throws things in here heedlessly. The place is a mess. Again, unsurprising.

The bags of charcoal are thankfully close to the door, clearly for convenient access. I grab a handful of blackened chunks, wrinkling my nose at the soot that smudges everything I touch, and head back around the side of the house, keeping a watchful eye out for any pokémon vigilantes that may lie in waiting to ambush me. While Shooter's territorial squatters have accepted the newcomer pokémon, they most definitely have _not _accepted us humans yet – and they like to keep reminding us of that whenever opportunity arises.

Back around the front of the house, I edge carefully over to El Scorchio's dining position. He casts me a watchful glance… then a warning glance… then a dangerous glance.

"Grace," Jess calls hesitantly. "Maybe you shouldn't – you don't know if this will actually help or not. It could make things worse."

Really? I'd love to know how, exactly, he thinks things could get any worse between us. I proceed to voice this.

"Charcoal could just make Scorch stronger," Jess explains. "Then he's more dangerous."

True. But he actually hasn't been attacking me quite as much lately, so I think it's worth taking the risk – especially if it actually does improve things. Besides, I've gotten pretty skilled at dodging his sporadic fire attacks, if I do say so myself.

"I'm giving it a shot," I say with conviction. Jess relents, sitting quietly on the porch steps, elbows on knees, hands dangling, to watch. I steel my nerves and approach El Scorchio. He sees me straight away, puffs up his little body and snorts a warning plume of flame.

Inspired by my success this evening with Dash, I gather confidence from somewhere and say, "Aren't you getting sick of trying to frighten me off?"

"Maa." He snorts another plume. I do my best to appear to ignore it. In reality, I'm sweating like a pig with anxiety.

"Here," I say, managing to keep my voice even. "I brought you some charcoal. You like it, right?"

He says nothing. I hold it out so he can examine it. Recognition dawns in those big, bulbous yellow eyes. "Maa!"

Oh my god – I believe that _may_ have been enthusiasm, maybe. Everyone, stop what you're doing! It's quite possible hell could have just frozen over. If you're lucky, you might get to watch it thaw. But you've got about ten seconds.

El Scorchio promptly ignores his dinner and moves closer. I feel like I should think this is a good thing, but I don't.

Every warning bell in my body is going off, telling me to _BACK THE HELL UP OR YOU'LL GET YOUR FACE TORCHED OFF. _Or something along those lines.

"You want it?" I ask, swallowing my fear with effort.

El Scorchio gives me a flat look. "Maa."

I think that might translate to something akin to 'No shit, Sherlock'. Seems like something he'd say if he could speak.

"You can have it," I say, holding it out. "But only if you promise not to burn me. And no more flame-thingies."

He narrows his eyes. I give him a few seconds to mull over my proposition. After a minute of deliberating, he says shortly, "Ma", and bellows black smoke.

What the _hell_ is that supposed to mean?

I take a few reflexive steps backward, choking in the pungent smog. My eyes are smarting, watering like crazy; tears flow openly down my cheeks. It's like I'm breathing ash – it's hot, scratchy, and it burns my throat. Not to mention it tastes like dirt. Worse than dirt.

From somewhere in the smoke-cloud, El Scorchio snickers. Vindictive little–

"Blondie," Shooter's voice calls lazily. "Recognise the offering of peace, already."

How, exactly, a lungful of smog is supposedly a peace offering is totally beyond me, but I suppose it isn't a faceful of fire, at least. We might actually be getting somewhere. Mind you, I'm not willing to hedge any bets on it yet.

Behind me, Jess' voice reprimands, "_Blondie_? Her name's _Grace_, Shooter."

"Whatever," Shooter's voice replies dismissively. I can't help grinning.

Gradually the smog clears, revealing El Scorchio looking up at me expectantly. Waiting.

"You know," I say. "Attacking people all the time really isn't going to do you any favours."

"Maa."

Like he cares; he just wants the piece of charcoal. Fine. Little dirt-bag.

I kneel carefully before him. He watches intensely. Aside from the time I woke up in Burned Tower and found his face in mine, this is the closest I've ever been to him. My pulse thuds in my ears. If he wanted to, he could melt my face in about two seconds.

Don't think about that, Grace.

Buh-bye hair. And eyebrows.

_Don't think about it, Grace! God! What's wrong with you?_

I take a deep breath. So far, so good. "Right, I'm going to hold it out, and you can take it, okay? But if you burn me _at all_, I'm taking it away."

And if I did that, he'd probably set my clothes on fire. But he _needs _to learn that he can't just burn everything to the ground to get his way, or we're never going to get anywhere.

His creepy fire-eyelashes flicker like long tongues of flame. "Maa."

Oh no, we're going to need to be more clear on this. "I mean it. No burning."

He snorts a little cloud of black smoke. I don't budge. He huffs. Haha – funny. He's like a spoiled infant throwing a tantrum.

But, amazingly, his little goopy body sags a bit – like he's sighing reluctantly – and the intensity of the heat radiating from his skin suddenly lessens. He slithers closer to me, an expression of deep hatred simmering in his eyes.

But he's not attacking me. Hallelujah! He can hate me all he wants, for all I care – as long as he's not attacking me.

I offer out the charcoal. Oh, _man – _he's rightup close. I mean seriously close. If I wanted to, I could move my free hand – the one that's pressed into the dirt beside my knee – and it would brush his little reddish body.

But I'm not that stupid. And I really _don't _have a death wish, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary. Eyes locked, we endure an agonisingly intense moment of thick silence, both waiting for the other to break their end of the deal. Neither of us does, amazingly.

Finally, after apparently deciding I'm not about to cheat him of his prize, El Scorchio opens his mouth wide, and a pink tongue – oddly like a human tongue, just not as slimy – extends from where his lips would be, if he had any. Keeping his eyes on mine, he curls his tongue around the charcoal, retracting his treasure into the safety of his mouth. It feels odd – sort of coarse – as it brushes against my skin. But it doesn't burn me. Major success!

I slowly lower my hand to the ground, releasing the breath I'd subconsciously held. It would take less than a second for him to change his mind and betray me. All I can do is pray to cresselia that he doesn't.

And, miraculously, he actually doesn't. He just backs up, munching the crunchy charcoal, wary eyes still on me.

"Grace," Jess says, sounding breathless. "Come back now."

It's the first thing anyone's said for three minutes flat. I nod slightly to El Scorchio, respectfully, and slowly get up, breaking eye contact. When I make it back to the porch unscathed, the full weight of what I've just done cascades down on me with crushing ferocity.

"I just _– I just_ – it worked!" My voice is squeaky with euphoria.

Jess hastily grabs me, checking me over with worrying fingers. "He really didn't burn you?"

"Not at all – not once!"

He releases a sharp exhalation, his eyes dark. "That was risky, Grace."

"But worth it," I reply, grinning giddily. "He didn't attack me. He _really _didn't!"

"Yeah, well don't count on it just yet," Jess replies, uncharacteristically short. "I get the feeling it was more of a one-time deal; a temporary ceasefire in the midst of a world war."

My smile fades. Why is he being such a buzz kill? "I know that. It's not like I think we're suddenly best buddies or anything."

Actually, his reaction is kind of hurtful. Does he really think I'm that stupid? That's usually Zeke's job. The idea of Jess thinking me dumb in any situation does not sit well with me at all.

But seriously, I know this is not a victory – not by a long shot. But _he_ was the one talking about getting over my fear of fire pokémon just a few hours ago. What the heck happened? I thought progress was a _good_ thing.

I hug myself, annoyed. "You can have the rest of my sweet and sour pork if you want it. I'm full."

I march inside, mood killed.

XD

Morning dawns bright and early. Which means I'm _awake_ bright and early.

Unfortunately, my bad mood has carried over from last night, so I'm grumpy and irritable. I hate being annoyed with Jess, which just fuels my frustration even more. I practically stomp around the house, but no-one wakes up. Well, Shooter doesn't wake up; Jess is already up and about, of course. His bed is empty in the lounge, which means he's probably gone out for a run on the beach, like yesterday.

At least he's not here to be on the receiving end of my temper, I guess.

I suppose it's only fair though; after two glorious successes yesterday life had to kick me in the teeth _somehow_ to balance things out again. That's just the way things work. Shame it had to be about Jess though. Couldn't it at least have been Zeke?

Speaking of Mr Surly, he's still not here. His bed is unslept in – it's exactly as it was when we left yesterday. The selfish prick. Didn't even call to say he would be out all night.

Oh_ god._ Now I sound like his mother. Well, no, not his _actual_ mother – she wouldn't even give half a damn. But like a mother-figure-ish sort of person. Shudder. Now I feel weird.

There's very little in the way of breakfast; the pantry is a depressing place and the fridge offers little love. My tummy rumbles pointedly. Damn Shooter and his laziness. And us not going grocery shopping yesterday.

I stand in the silent house for a few minutes, considering my options. Eat last night's leftover Chinese, hunt in the back garden for wild island fruit (there's got to be something in there somewhere – probably along with several undiscovered species of wild pokémon), or call a cab and go find a supermarket. Does this island even _have _supermarkets?

Well, even if it doesn't, it's still a better option than the first two. The aforementioned undiscovered species of pokémon are likely to be carnivorous, knowing my luck.

A fridge magnet provides me with the number for a taxi company; I grab the cordless phone and plug it in. Fifteen minutes to kill until my chariot arrives. I don't know if I can make it. Hold on, tummy. Just hold on.

Thirteen of those minutes are spent lying on the pilling brown sofa, staring up at the cracks and water marks in the roof and listening to the pokémon outside.

About twenty seconds into the fourteenth minute, car doors slam outside, laughing voices float through the fly-screen door, and the sound of the screeching front gate being opened reaches my ears. I lie still, my hair in my face, listening to footsteps scuffing up the path. Obviously it's someone the pokémon know, or they'd be being eaten by now.

Wait, that means–

The door slams open. I tilt my head back and receive an inverted view of Zeke.

"Where the hell have you been?" I snap. It comes out sort of strangled; I'm having trouble speaking upside-down.

"None of your business," he sneers lazily. Something in his voice doesn't sound right. I roll over onto my stomach, ignoring my clothes twisting around me uncomfortably. Zeke's leaning against the door frame, looking flushed and… well, totally out of it, to put it bluntly. His eyes are unfocused, dismissive, and kind of sleepy.

"Um, Zeke…" I trail off, trying and failing to mask my concern. "Is everything okay?"

He ignores me, turning back to drag something across the threshold. No, not something. Some_one_.

"Oh, fantastic," I mutter, as Elena's leggy, sequin-clad figure half-stumbles in, clinging to Zeke. "Just perfect."

I get up from the sofa, bad mood exacerbated. Seriously. Why did he have to bring her back here? This is _not _her sort of place. And _why _are they both acting like stupid puppets without strings?

"Hey," Elena sing-songs with a languid smirk, and shoots me a smoky-eyed wink. Her make-up is smudged around her eyes (on her it looks hot). Her gaze, too, is unfocused, her smile a little too deliriously wide to be natural.

Oh, you're _kidding _me.

She lets go of Zeke's shirt and grabs his hand, tugging him toward the corridor. "I think we're interrupting something." She drags out the 'rr'. Her voice is a terribly loud attempt at a whisper. She grins coyly at him, giggling.

They're both _blind_ _drunk_.

"Zeke," I begin, incredulous. "What thehell? Have you been _drinking_?" I can't believe this.

He ignores me, letting Elena pull him along easily. I watch them in a kind of fascinated horror. They're sort of… _falling _everywhere. It's a wonder the ruckus hasn't woken Shooter.

I have to be completely honest, it's not like I haven't seen Zeke drunk before. Actually I've seen it a few times too many, back at the penthouse, but he usually stumbled in and made a beeline for his bedroom, _without_ a girl under his arm. And not to a room he was _sharing with me_. And not at seven o'clock in the morning. This is pretty disgusting, even for him.

"Zeke!" I bleat, trailing helplessly after them. "Zeke, what about the Cup – you've got to work in a few hours."

I sound like a whiny, annoying whismur, pining pathetically after him. Or, ironically, like an irksome little sister. How fitting.

Zeke reels at the door to our room, glaring at me. "Shut. Up."

Then he shuts the door in my face. All I can think is,_ Please not my bed!_

I stomp back to the lounge just as the door opens again.

"Grace?" Jess says, confused. The door bounces gently shut behind him. A towel is draped over his bare chest, which is beaded with water. It drips from his hair, pattering the carpet.

Pent-up irritation – at him and at Zeke – wells up inside me as I stare at him, ready to explode. He's narrowly saved my tirade by a car honking outside; the cab's here.

"Where are you going?" Jess asks, frowning as I snatch up my wallet and cell from the sofa cushions.

"Out," I snap. Then I soften, because he's _not _Zeke – he's Jess, and even if I'm still annoyed at him, he deserves to be treated better than that. "To get groceries."

"Want me to–"

"Come?" I should think not. "No, thanks." I brush past and head out the door, wishing my face wasn't so red. Damn my blushing complex. No, damn his _shirtlessness_.

The door slams again as Jess follows me out, incredulous. "Grace–"

"Careful," I call back smartly. "Zeke and Elena are in the spare room. I don't think you want to interrupt them."

"Wait–"

But I've already wrenched the gate open and slammed it angrily shut, and before he can catch up, I'm sliding into the back of the cab, tossing a brusque, 'Any supermarket in Scarlet City' at the cabbie.

As we pull away from the kerb, I spot Jess' helpless figure at the edge of the road, and feel like the biggest bitch in the whole entire world. It was supposed to feel satisfying.

It doesn't.

Damn.


End file.
